All My Love To Long Ago
by joe6991
Summary: All was well, Harry thought, as his sons departed for Hogwarts. Yet those three words are never certain. The wizarding world has known peace, but it can't last forever. Join Harry Potter and his family one more time, as the adventure begins anew....
1. Prologue I: This Old Dance

_**Disclaimer:** You know the deal, folks, none of this belongs to me except the sparkling wordplay. All characters, settings, and pretty much anything you recognise is property of the Harry Potter franchise._

_**A/N:** Enjoy, or not, thank you for reading. I've moved this story under my first and foremost user name, because I like keeping track of everything under one hat. Apologies if you lost this story during the move from thisolddance to joe6991, but it will be kept here now, and updated here, too._

_Cheers,_

_joe_

* * *

_**All My Love to Long Ago**_

_They say foul beings of old times still lurk in dark, forgotten corners of the world, and gates still gape to loose, on certain nights, shapes pent in Hell._

Attributed to Cthulu Mythos, (H.P Lovecraft)

Actual Source: Myrddin _'Merlin' _Ambrosius in the fires of destruction and chaos before the Gates of Avalon over six hundred years ago...

* * *

_**Prologue I – This Old Dance**_

**Excerpt from a diary found at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, author unknown**:

_**January 16th, 2018**_

_Any wizard wanting to claim the title of Dark Lord would first have to destroy Harry James Potter - the Boy Who Lived. Potter is a hero to the world, a symbol for everything and everyone that would stand and fight against the Dark Arts. No self-styled 'Dark Lord' could claim power so long as Harry Potter lives._

_Yet mere death alone would not undo his life's work. Death would only change one man's quest into a crusade, change a hero into a martyr. Potter must die, that much is certain, but first he must be destroyed._

_And what better way to not just kill, but utterly destroy the hope and saviour of the wizarding world, to leave the masses helpless to the rise of a new wave of darkness and iron rule than to attack that which he holds most dear – his family. The man himself would be hard to kill, but to defeat what he stands for is next to impossible... unless the man were to become a monster. Enough emerald flame and hot blood dripping from the throats of his children could do that._

_Harry Potter could die a thousand ways, yet his cause must be torn straight from his heart. Then, and only then, will the light and hope of the world be cut deep enough to die... to make way for a new strength reborn in my image._

_Two decades ago Voldemort underestimated the power of a symbol, the power of a lightning bolt scar and the strength of love over fear, friendship over control. His arrogance blinded him and Potter made him pay the ultimate price._

_Would the Boy Who Lived be as successful against an adversary who understands him? Against an enemy that understands his drive and his defiance? Voldemort considered this ability to _love_ a weakness. Voldemort was right, but for the wrong reasons. And now history remembers the last Dark Lord as nothing but a terrifying failure, defeated before his reign could truly begin at the cost of far too many lives._

_In that respect, at least, I must thank Harry Potter. Had Voldemort triumphed there would be no more worlds to conquer. No worlds, wizarding or muggle, _worth_ conquering._

_Now there is work to do. The night is young and the castle is never silent. I will do what I have to do, and the consequences will not be kind for the Potter family._

_Yet the necessary death of Harry James Potter is but a small part of my plans... plans of darkness and shadow._

_Only in death does duty end, yet my duty to the world shall last forever once immortality is mine. Fate is never final, and magic is power..._

_And I shall be the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth._

* * *

_**September 1st, 2017**_

_Harry crouched down so that Albus's face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry's three children, Albus had inherited Lily's eyes._

"_Albus Severus," Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."_

"_But _just say_—"_

"—_then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."_

"_Really?"_

"_It did for me," said Harry._

_He had never told any of his children that before, and he saw the wonder in Albus's face when he said it. But now the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents were swarming forward for final kisses, last-minute reminders. Albus jumped into the carriage and Ginny closed the door behind him. Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned towards Harry._

"_Why are they _staring_?" demanded Albus as he and Rose craned around to look at the other students._

"_Don't let it worry you," said Ron. "It's me. I'm extremely famous."_

_Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son's thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him..._

_The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry's hand was still raised in farewell._

"_He'll be all right," murmured Ginny._

_As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead._

"_I know he will."_

_The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well._

On the way out of the station Ginny walked ahead with Hermione, holding her daughter Lily's hand as Harry and Ron brought up the rear, all of them ducking and weaving amongst the throng of passengers on King's Cross station. Ron kept a hand on Hugo's head, directing him through the mass of people. Hermione was berating the bureaucracy in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Ginny dutifully nodded along as she listened to Hermione's latest attempt to eradicate the streams of oppressive, pro-pureblood laws that had been enforced over the centuries.

Ron was laughing at the quality of the latest Auror recruits that Harry had assigned to him. Not a one of them could catch a raindrop in a thunderstorm, let alone a dark wizard. Harry was only half-listening, his mind still on little Albus and James, off to Hogwarts for the year. He knew they would be okay... Hogwarts was not as dangerous as it had been back in his time there...

And really, it had only been significantly life-threatening for him because of Voldemort.

Still, there was an almost invisible tension in the air... as if the hairs on the back of his neck were slowly rising.

Harry shrugged. _All was well._ James would look out for Al as he got settled in. And he wouldn't be alone in his own year. He knew Rose, had known her all his life. And no doubt they would both be Gryffindors together. Some things just made sense.

Outside in the car park Harry gave Ron a firm handshake, ruffling Hugo's hair as he did, and spared a quick kiss on the cheek for Hermione. Saying their goodbyes and promising to see each other Saturday night for dinner, he and Ginny each took one of Lily's hands and headed back to the car.

"I miss them already," said Ginny, as Harry got the car door for her and then Miss Lily, who smiled primly and jumped into the backseat. It really wouldn't be long before her first year now, and then he and Ginny would be driving home alone.

"Me too," Harry replied. He ran round the car and slipped into the driver's seat. "But we'll hear from them both soon enough. Al won't be able to wait to let us know he's a Gryffindor."

Ginny grinned. "Are you heading into work today?"

Harry nodded. "I'm meeting Kingsley this afternoon. He wants to discuss keying me into the new wards at Azkaban. A few of the old Death Eater crowd got into the minimum security wing last night. Nowhere near an escape attempt, but still a security breach."

Ginny was silent for a moment as Harry pulled out onto the main road, heading for the motorway. "You'll be heading over to Azkaban?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably."

"Thank Merlin the Dementors aren't there anymore."

"Still a miserable place, though. I'll be home for about seven."

Lily squeaked from the backseat. "McDonald's!"

Harry drove on past the fast food restaurant shaking his head. "It'll rot your insides, Lily."

"Mum lets me get a Happy Meal and a muggle toy!"

Harry glanced at Ginny, raising his eyebrows. She smiled sweetly and stroked his cheek. "Only when you've been good, young lady, and telling daddy has locked you out till next year."

Lily _hmmphed_ and looked back out the window as London sped on by. "Today's not fair," she mumbled.

"You'll be at Hogwarts soon enough." Harry slowed to a stop at a set of traffic lights on Hendon Way, near the turn off for the M1. "And you'll forget all about McDonalds and such once you've had a house elf feast."

"I _can't_ wait to go," Lily said wistfully. "I can't wait to get a wand and books and a cat."

"You want to take a cat?" Ginny asked, surprised.

"Like Aunt Hermione," Lily nodded enthusiastically. "And think about it, mum, if I need to send a letter I can just use Dexter or Merlin. Al's new owl liked me better than him anyway."

"Well there you go then," Harry said. "It's a nice owl."

Al's new owl had been snowy white, with deep intelligent yellow-amber eyes. Feather for feather, it had looked like a very old and long lost friend. Merlin was a good name, a funny name, yet Hedwig would have fit just as well.

"I'll be a Gryffindor, won't I, dad?"

Harry smiled, thinking he would have this conversation more than once with Lily over the next two years. "Sure, sweetheart," he said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. "If you want to be."

"I do," Lily whispered.

Such a small thing to be worrying about, Harry thought, yet of the upmost importance to each of his children. It had been important to Harry, too, all those years ago. Although not for the same reasons. He had only wanted a friend. His children thought they had to, in some way, live up to the legend that was Harry Potter.

And Harry Potter had been a Gryffindor, a Quidditch star, the youngest ever Seeker at Hogwarts... but he had also been a slayer of Dark Lords and basilisks, of Dementors and Death Eaters, the Boy Who Lived and the man who had united the Deathly Hallows.

Harry's hands clenched the leather of the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Merlin willing, his children would never know the horror of the dark arts or the awesome fury of a wizarding war.

The traffic lights turned green. The Potter family headed home.

* * *

_**  
A/N: **__Hi there. This is the prologue to a much longer story that is currently under construction. This is a story for those who were left wanting more after Deathly Hallows, for those who didn't want to let go of the magic so soon. If you have the time, please leave a review and tell me what you think - good, bad, some constructive criticism. I've always liked writing stories, let me know if you like reading them._

_All the best,_

_joe_


	2. Prologue II: It All Begins Here

_**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognise here does not belong to me. Most of it belongs to the Harry Potter franchise. Anything that seems original could be mine, but its probably been done before._

_**A/N:** Laugh and be merry. If you're here then I guess you read the first part - thanks! Please review._

* * *

_**Prologue II – This Is Your Story, It All Begins Here**_

_What was silent in the father speaks in the son, and often I found in the son the unveiled secret of the father. _

_Nietzsche _

_**Nineteen Years Ago**_

Following the Battle of Hogwarts Harry Potter walked alone across the castle grounds and returned the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb, gazing hard at the remains of the old headmaster for several minutes in silent respect. With no short amount of spell work he resealed the white marble with his own wand and hopefully lay to rest the Deathly Hallows forever.

Weary with grief and honest fatigue, he stood and looked out over the sparkling lake, one hand resting lightly on the warm marble of the tomb. A lot of things had ended today – for Harry, the world had ended, and he had survived it to begin again. And really, for the first time, he realised just how young he truly was... seventeen, and the world was free for him now. He had made it so.

But these thoughts were far too heavy and sluggish to be moving through his mind just now. He was so damn tired, and too many people had died today, the good and the bad, for him to be thinking more than five minutes ahead. That would come; the future would happen, but for now the present needed attending to...

The castle was so silent, and an air of shock and grief, mingled with feared hope, hung over everything. Most people were still seated in the Great Hall as Harry entered, and all eyes swivelled to him and the muttered chatter died away. He saw the house elves had provided a few small dishes, yet no one seemed to have much appetite.

Ron and Hermione sat with the rest of the Weasleys at the Gryffindor table, and Ginny's pale face flushed with relief as Harry walked into the hall. The professors sat at the head table, with a few officials who looked like they belonged to the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt was there, with Percy Weasley at his side. They all turned to look at him, nodding and smiling. No doubt they were planning for the future whilst the present still demanded Harry's attention.

He knew what needed to be done. For his own peace of mind, if for no other reason.

His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hall as he headed toward the one room that no one was sitting too close to. One of the small chambers running off from the main hall, and the chamber where one of the bodies had been taken after it was all over. There was a small gasp throughout the hall as Harry entered the room alone.

The body of Lord Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had been placed carefully on a simple wooden table in the heart of the cold chamber. There was a small dead fireplace and a few Hogwarts' tapestries on the walls. A single stained glass window looked out over the distant mountains towards Hogsmeade.

Voldemort's pale, skull-like face was bruised purple with burst capillaries, the slits of his eyes hung open and the dull red orbs gazed at Harry sightlessly, almost mockingly. His thin body seemed non-existent beneath his heavy dark robes, and his unnaturally long fingers rested on nothing but old wood. The Dark Lord's wand, the brother of Harry's own, lay next to his dead hand.

With little preamble, Harry tore one of the tapestries off the wall and covered the body of his nemesis from head to toe. Both master and wand wrapped tightly within the folds of the tapestry. Levitating the corpse was little work, as was moving it out through the Great Hall. A path was cleared, with many hurrying out of his way, anxious to be no nearer the fallen Dark Lord than necessary.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stood up as Harry made for the Entrance Hall, his wand pointed resolutely before him at the bound tapestry. He shook his head at them, and then at the head table.

"No one follows me," he said, and with such authority that it brooked no argument at all.

Back out on the castle grounds Harry walked with no sense of purpose, only with a tired determination to see it all said and done. He headed for the Forbidden Forest, and was soon submerged beneath its dark branches, winding a path as best he could with Voldemort's remains hovering always just ahead.

Wraith-like voices seemed to be swimming across his mind, whispering words and worries that would follow Harry for years yet.

_It can't be over, Potter..._

"Yes it can," Harry replied, directing his words at the floating corpse before him.

_How could you possibly defeat _me_? Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of the age! Possessed of more power than you could possibly imagine._

"You're dead!" Harry snarled. "You're dead and about to burn."

His mind was deceptively quiet after that, and then a stray thought... _It will never be over, not for you, Harry Potter._

And that would follow him for years, as well, yet the worst of our demons often do...

A mile or so into the forest and Harry came upon a small overgrown clearing with a thick, heavy canopy of trees overhead. It was as good a place as any - nothing special about it and in the middle of nowhere. It would do.

He lowered Voldemort's corpse to the ground and set about digging a deep grave in the earth. He used magic to clear away the heavy undergrowth, the vines and shrubs which gave way reluctantly, and exposed the hard soil beneath. Magic again, and it was a real effort now, running at the edge of his reserves. Harry couldn't recall the last time he slept. After some time, half an hour or so, he had dug a deep enough pit to put the first of his nightmares to rest.

Harry used his own hands to push the body into the grave. It hit the bottom six feet down with a dull, final thud. It was the only sound in the large, darkened forest. Sniffing, Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and pointed his wand for the last time at the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"_Incendio_," he said, swift and true. And that was that.

Flames a lot stronger than expected, fuelled by silent anger, engulfed the dull maroon tapestry and the thin corpse within. The fire filled the whole pit and roared as high as the grave's edge. Harry was mindful enough not to set the rest of the forest alight, yet all he really felt at that moment was bitter satisfaction.

Time passed, maybe an hour, and all that was left of Voldemort was ash and dust coating a wiry thin and scorched skeleton. Harry nodded, done was done, and levitated the mounds of dirt back into the hole, sealing away the remains forever. It wouldn't take the forest long to reclaim the ground he had cut away.

He left no marker, no headstone... Voldemort would lie here until the ending of the world.

After that, Harry returned to the castle and slept.

The summer following the defeat of Voldemort was the most hectic of Harry's life. He spent most of his time between Grimmauld Place and The Burrow, with one brief trip to see the Dursleys back in to Privet Drive and collect his few belongings and such left in the back bedroom. They had survived the year in a safe house living in relative comfort supported by the Order, and were only too happy to be home and finally free of all the '_freakish_' behaviour Harry had brought down on them.

Harry was more than happy to see the back of his relatives as well, and vowed never to set foot at Number Four Privet Drive again.

In the chaos following the first few days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Kingsley Shacklebolt solidified his position in the Ministry and by emergency vote of the Wizengamot, along with Harry Potter's support, he was voted in as the permanent Minister for Magic. His first act as Minister was to ferret out all ex-Death Eaters and their supporters within Ministry ranks, a job that would take many months to complete. One notable early act was the removal and imprisonment of Dolores Jane Umbridge, who would later be convicted of crimes against Muggle-borns and imprisoned for twenty years without parole.

Harry acquiesced, at Kingsley's behest, to tell his story to the world. He gave one and only one interview to _The Daily Prophet_ on the promise that what he said would not be altered or changed in any way. His interview was published worldwide in every magical country, and the world saw just how close it had come to being overwhelmed by a madman with a grasp at immortality. The only thing Harry left out of his story was the horcruxes, and the finer points regarding the Deathly Hallows. The less people knew about that particular branch of magic the better.

His interview was also used as testimony in the Death Eater trials – for those that had been captured at least. A lot of Death Eaters were still on the run, and some would evade capture for many decades. Most were imprisoned, however, in Azkaban. The island itself was no longer home to the Dementors. The creatures themselves were being kept under careful Ministry control until someone could decide just what to do with them.

Under Minister Shacklebolt, Harry, Ron, and Hermione helped reform the Ministry and made sure that no one slipped back into the old ways that created Voldemort's powerbase in the first place. Every Death Eater was given a fair trial, and although most ended up in Azkaban, not a soul who was innocent ended up in the dank prison.

Arthur and Percy Weasley were both promoted in to the higher ranks of Ministry officials, reporting directly to Kingsley, and in years to come would work side by side with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on many issues regarding the governing of the wizarding world.

One thing about that summer that Harry would carry with him to his grave was the sheer number of funerals and memorials he attended. He owed it to the dead, and to their grieving friends and family – many of which he knew – to be there. He understood his position, the effect of his deeds and the mantle of leadership that that duty placed on his shoulders.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were buried in Godric's Hollow alongside James and Lily Potter. A headstone was also raised for Sirius Black, and Harry gave a few words to the small crowd of close friends that had come to pay their respects.

Most of the other dead from the Battle of Hogwarts, where previous family arrangements were not made, were buried alongside Dumbledore's tomb on the castle grounds. Harry saw it as only fitting, after all. Hagrid himself fenced off the boundary of the cemetery, and a stone war memorial was raised facing the lake listing the names of those lost in both the First and Second Dark War.

Most of the names engraved in the smooth marble were under twenty-one years of age.

Near the end of the summer, as the long days crept towards September 1st, Minerva McGonagall was appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Later the same day she announced that the school would open as always at the start of the school year. This news was met with tremendous support, and seen as a sign that the world was recovering and moving on, that peace was well and truly under way.

Headmistress McGonagall also announced that every seventh year student from the previous year who had failed to take their exams because of the Battle and the sheer level of incompetent teaching from the Death Eater staff, would be invited back to do the year over again and pass their NEWTs. Nearly every student in the graduating class returned for this 'eighth' year at Hogwarts.

McGonagall wrote personally to Harry, Hermione, and Ron, asking them to return for their final year which they had missed entirely. All three of them agreed with enthusiasm, and Harry saw it as a vacation compared to the previous year, which he had spent as the most wanted man in the wizarding world.

That year was his best at Hogwarts by far. There were no murderous plots, no slithering monsters or resurrected Dark Lords, no Dementors or mysterious deaths. There was Quidditch, and good times with good friends, there was healing and learning – and there was Ginny Weasley.

He and Ginny, having had little chance to see each other during the hectic summer after the end of the war, spent a lot of time together during the school year. Their relationship practically exploded off the mark once the year at Hogwarts was underway.

Headmistress McGonagall had asked Harry to deliver a small speech before the entire school at the start of term feast, just to reassure the student body with his presence, as many were still shaken from the torturous discipline and murderous resolve of Voldemort and his Death Eaters over the last school year.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny accompanied him up on the podium before the head table, and with a smile of honest happiness and carrying himself taller than he ever had before, Harry welcomed everyone back to Hogwarts, wished them well with their studies and told them he looked forward to the first Quidditch match of the season.

He then turned to Ginny, took her hand and pulled her close and kissed her firmly on the lips in front of everybody. The hall erupted in applause and cat-calls, wolf whistles and laughter.

Harry walked back to the Gryffindor table with Ginny on his arm, his emerald eyes alight with something very rarely seen there – honest happiness, and a hint of mischief. The weight of the world no longer rested on his shoulders – and his eyes blazed with the awesome potential of a life worth living.

* * *

_**Eighteen Years Ago**_

After Hogwarts finished Harry moved into Grimmauld Place for the summer on his own, but never for long. The house was a waypoint for him and his friends, as well as the entire Weasley clan. It would not become his permanent home though, as there were too many memories within the walls. It would later be auctioned and sold to a private bidder for a tidy sum.

Over the summer, Harry was bombarded with owls from half the wizarding world containing letters of congratulations on his outstanding NEWT results, which were published in the _Prophet_ and several international newspapers, as well as letters full of job offers from every aspect of the magical world, most of them from the Ministry of Magic. He was also scouted by several Quidditch teams, as was Ron, and offered sponsorships from broomstick manufacturers' right through to Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Ron turned down his offer to join the Chudley Cannons as reserve keeper, instead opting to keep George company at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ron's older brother would never truly learn to live with the loss of his twin.

Harry discarded most of the letters after reading only a few lines. Yet there was one he did keep, however, and spent many days deciding whether or not to reply. He kept the parchment in his back pocket, and after a week of indecision showed it to Ginny and asked her opinion.

"You should do it," she said, after reading the letter. There was no hesitation, no indecision from her. "You won't be happy doing anything else, Harry. This is who you are. Anything else and you'll be bored."

So later that same summer Harry enrolled in the Auror Training Introductory Course at the Ministry of Magic, again making headline news worldwide. It was a bolster to the already inflated feeling of hope that Harry Potter, who had defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, had chosen to pursue a career as an Auror and continue to protect the world from the worst that was out there.

As was expected from all camps, he excelled through the training course in record time, having already faced and overcome most of the challenges presented there before. His knowledge of counter-curses was the best in the class, as was his understanding of the Dark Arts and the incantations of several of the nastier dark curses. He attended the graduation six months after completing the course before his classmates, and was awarded full marks with honours and apprenticed to a full-time Auror for the second stage of the training program less than eight months after receiving his invitation to join.

After two years of hard work and training, Harry was a fully-fledged Auror; having set the record for all of the Department's training simulations. It would be a full twenty years before anyone would match him...

In the same time that Harry was training, Ginny joined the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Team as a chaser and fast-moved up the ranks of the league board to the number four most sought after player in the league. Harry was fiercely proud of her, as were Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys.

Hermione herself applied for a job at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and began what would become many years of tireless effort to improve the lives of house elves and their ilk.

The lives of everyone, all of the wizarding world, especially the teenagers who had earned it, were off to a brighter start.

* * *

_**Fifteen Years Ago**_

Harry James Potter was married to Ginevra Molly Weasley in the spring of the year 2002. Hundreds of people were in attendance, as were half the world's population of delivery owls and wizarding press.

Harry only had eyes for his bride, however, and as he stood at the altar beneath a clear blue sky on that warm spring day, he hadn't felt as nervous as he did just then since a sixty-foot snake had tried to snap him in two.

Outwardly calm though, Ron was his best man and Hermione the maid of honour.

The wedding went off without a hitch, so to speak, and, taking a career break, Harry and Ginny Potter travelled the world together for six months, seeing all there was to see.

Upon their return they bought a house together away from the world in the English countryside, a house made unplottable by Harry and warded with the strongest defences the Auror department had at their disposal. The large country house became a home fast, yet neither Harry nor Ginny had any mind for children just yet, both returning to work to concentrate on their careers.

Harry returned to active duty in the Auror Department, and Ginny retired from professional Quidditch and accepted the role as lead Quidditch correspondent for the _Daily Prophet._

There was never a moment they were not happy together.

* * *

_**Twelve Years Ago**_

The year Harry was promoted to Deputy Head of the Auror Department was the same year Ron and Hermione were married, and also the same year Ginny became pregnant with their first child.

James Potter was born at midnight nine months later on June the 15th at St. Mungo's Hospital. His birth was celebrated across the wizarding world and the owls poured in yet again for Harry and Ginny, although due to the unplottable nature of the wards on their home many hundreds of them were redirected to Harry at work.

* * *

_**Eleven Years Ago**_

A year after James Potter was born Ginny gave birth again to a second baby boy. Albus Severus Potter was born on July 31st, like Harry, and also like Harry with the same sparkling emerald eyes. It wasn't long before Al Potter grew into the same unruly black hair.

Rose Weasley was born only two weeks later to Ron and Hermione on August 12th.

* * *

_**Ten Years Ago**_

At the Annual Ministry Christmas Party 2007, Harry was promoted to the Head of the Auror Department and no one who knew him thought it a bad choice. His record as an Auror was impeccable, and a lot of the cells in Azkaban were in full-use because of him.

Only the worst of the worst ended up in that prison these days – murderers, rapists, would-be dark wizards and those deemed criminally insane. A lot of Harry's captures were ex-Death Eaters who had been on the run for years. Harry harboured a personal hatred of these men and women, and he pursued them with a fierce determination that his fellow Aurors respected and admired. It was frightening to a lot of them, however, to witness Harry Potter unleash his power to bring down one of his old enemies. His emerald eyes became hard and unforgiving, and in those brief moments they could glimpse the teenager who had faced down and defeated the Dark Lord not only once, but several times...

In the new year Ginny gave birth a third and final time to Lily Potter, on March the 14th. And Ron and Hermione also had a second child in May of that year. They named him Hugo, and like all of Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione's children, Hugo was welcomed into an extended and loving – _huge_ – family.

* * *

_**This Old Dance, Part II**_

_**Five Years Ago**_

It was almost cliché to have a meeting such as this shrouded in cloaks and darkness, the young man thought.

Standing just under the eaves of the Forbidden Forest, he gazed with hard eyes at the dark silhouette of Hogwarts castle. There were few lights on up at the school, yet he had been sneaking out since his first year and knew the secret tunnels and unseen passages better than anyone alive. No one could have seen him leave, and no one would see him return.

Over in the distance smoke rose from the chimney of the gamekeeper's hut. Rubeus Hagrid may have been a giant oaf with minimal intelligence, but he knew the forest well. It would not do to be seen by him tonight. Small chance of that, however, at this hour of the morning, yet arrogance was a weakness and caution a virtue.

The man remained buried in shadow. His contact would be emerging from behind him in the forest anyway.

It was not long before dawn, yet the moon still hung low in the sky. Darkness would last a while longer yet. The man was only kept waiting another handful of minutes regardless. He knew the emissary had arrived when a slow, soft mist began to leak over the borders of the forest and onto the clear-cut castle grounds.

The mist sparkled in the starlight, a slow-moving silver river, and it was quite beautiful, yet the young man felt nothing but a rising numbness in his legs as the mist clawed and bit at his ankles. Whatever the mist truly was and wherever it truly came from, it was not natural in this world – it offended the set law and order of reality.

"You've come to the right choice, I see," the young man whispered to the mist. Although it moved with an aching slowness, the mist seemed to have spread all at once right up to the walls of the castle and along the edge of the lake.

As he spoke a figure swirled up and out of the sparkling fog, a figure that solidified into a roughly human-shaped creature. Featureless, the man guessed this was as close to human these beings of the mist could ever be.

"We accept your offer, wand-wizard," the mist-creature said.

"As I knew you would," the young man replied, and deep within the folds of his hooded cloak he smiled and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His voice remained hard and emotionless. "My plans still require many years of preparation. That gives you time to fulfil your end of our bargain... still, our time is limited, nonetheless."

"It will be done," the voice of the mist whispered, an arrogant and hard edge to its tone. "Do not presume to command us, wand-wizard, we are not so easily ruled."

"Idle threats," the young man scoffed. "Do not waste my time. We have very little of it between now and then." He laughed, that was a fine joke, considering the ramifications of his plans.

The featureless figure shivered and _turned_ in on itself. The mist seemed to fold and bend out of reality, through some invisible doorway beyond the senses of mortal minds to comprehend. The young man realised it was turning to look at Hogwarts castle, and its existence in this reality was very, very limited in terms of movement. That presented a problem that would have to be overcome.

"There is much raw power here," it said, and the young man couldn't quite judge the tone in its voice. It was deadpan, flat, and yet there was something beneath that... something that felt like quivering anticipation. "Generations of your kind have been bleeding energy into this earth for centuries. By the light of the Eternals, _can't you feel it, wand-wizard?_"

The man could, and was thankful the hood hid the surprise on his face. He had felt it ever since he first laid eyes on the castle, during his first year as he travelled across the lake on a boat in the early evening of September 1st. All of his classmates had been wide-eyed and even scared at their first sight of the magical castle. The young man had been awe-inspired, and had felt the beating heart of Hogwarts clearly in his veins. He had felt the sleeping _potential_.

The sheer amount of raw magic had nearly overwhelmed all of his senses. It had been painful, he had almost passed out and fallen into the lake, and it had also been pure bliss. All the world's pleasure and joy as the forces that governed the universe pulsed through his very soul. And what's more he soon discovered that no one else in the castle could feel such a thing. After five years he had become as used to the agonizing euphoria of the raw power as he could, yet it still struck him at times when he let his emotions get the better of him.

Such a slip in his demeanour did not happen often. Yet when it did Hogwarts could overwhelm his senses and knock him out cold. That problem would be overcome as well. It had already been partially conquered. One day, one day soon, he would control the untapped strength that _burnt_ through the layers of reality around the castle and within the Forbidden Forest.

He would take command of the power that spun the wheels of the universe and _improve_ this world, make it better for mankind by purging those who would harm this planet and its inhabitants.

And of those that stole magic from the deserving, _pure_ descendants of the Old People.

"Your thoughts are pulsing." The young man hadn't seen the mist-creature turn back to look at him. He got the feeling it was smiling. The mist was quivering, it was _eager_. "Such dark thoughts, such fierce strings of cause and effect, determination and defiance run through your soul. We have allied ourselves with such... _ambition._"

The young man closed his mind with lightning-fast brutality. He was a master Occlumens – just one of his many talents. The mist recoiled with a sharp hiss that gave way to reluctant laughter.

"Very well..." the creature said.

"Five years from this date, we will speak again," the young man said, and there was a horrifying coldness in his voice that would shake the world to its core. It was power. A power that transcended words and explanation... a power that had never been seen before.

For the first time the mist-creature caught a glimpse of what this human, this wand-wizard, was truly capable of doing to achieve his goals. The creature shuddered. It had been a long time since its kind had felt fear and doubt. Yet an unfamiliar tendril of just that was creeping up and over the creature's 'spine' under the young man's gaze.

"As you wish," the mist replied. And then again, softly and uncertain, "As you wish..."

From within the folds of his robe the young man withdrew his wand, a wand that had not been purchased at any wandmakers, but in a place much darker and... _unexpected._ And at a much higher price. It was an old wand, almost a century now, and powerful. The fierce, bitter warmth that flowed up and through the man's arm every time he touched this wand was infinitely more fitting than the feeling he received from the stick he had purchased at Ollivander's before his first year.

"_The gate of tomorrow is not the light of heaven, but the darkness in the depths of the earth,_" the young man whispered, spinning his wand in slow circles.

A thin stream of emerald and crimson light intertwined with thick, acrid smoke burned from the tip of his wand. This was an incantation of his own making – unique in the world – and steeped in the more vicious aspects of the dark arts than any other branch of magic in the world...

The young man's genius knew no bounds.

The thick cord of magic whispered almost silently in the night, it was a high-pitching whining... a scream.

"I hear the cry of a terrible power," the mist-creature said. And there was no doubt it was afraid now. It would take this feeling back to the others of its kind, this _fear_, and see what could be made of it.

"Our promise," the young man chuckled. "Here."

The jet of fierce light cracked like a whip and pierced the silvery form of the mist-creature. All at once the mist that had spread over the entire grounds flashed crimson-red and emerald-green and began to fade away into the ground.

"Five of your years," the mist said, sounding very far away as it disappeared beneath the depths of time and space. "Our bargain is set."

"Indeed."

In a heartbeat of instants the mist vanished entirely, and there was no sign at all that it had ever been there. The young man remained under the eaves of the forest, caught in thought and seeing future aspects of his plans falling steadily into place. The smile on his face never reached his eyes, and never would.

_Our bargain is more than set,_ he thought. _And in the years to come it will change this world forever._

That thought was a satisfying one, but it was interrupted by a sharp bolt of pain that rippled across the young man's forehead. He raised his hand and touched his pale face, a tiny frown creasing his brow in the darkness of his hood.

That pain happened sometimes, and with increasing frequency these last few years. Sometimes stray thoughts and strange images accompanied the pain, things that made no sense at all. Was it something to be concerned about? Perhaps it was becoming so...

No matter. Tonight had gone as planned, and the creatures of the mist had become his servants whether they realised it or not.

His forehead twitched again, just above his right eye. It was nothing.

_All was well._

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _Thanks for reading again. This chapter was mostly a filler chapter, yet it had to be done and I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter picks up from where the Deathly Hallows Epilogue left off, from Albus Potter's perspective and there'll be very little - if any - jumping back into the past. I should have it up and running in a few days, ironing out the wrinkles. I'll end this note now before it gets too long, never can be bothered reading them more than ten seconds._

Please review!


	3. Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins Anew

_**Disclaimer:**__ The Harry Potter franchise owns all and anything here you recognise, and probably some of the things you don't!_

_**A/N:**__ As of posting this chapter I thank my reviewers and hope to see more of you as the story progresses! Nice little chapter this one, I thought. _

* * *

_**Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins Anew**_

_We rode on the winds of the rising storm,  
we ran to the sounds of the thunder.  
We danced among the lightning bolts,  
and tore the world asunder._

_Robert Jordan, The Wheel of Time_

Albus Potter's trepidation about whether he would be sorted into Gryffindor or Slytherin House gave way to rising excitement and fluttering nerves almost as soon as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station.

He followed Rose Weasley along the carriage and into one of the few compartments not fit to burst with excited students returning to school for another year. James had disappeared into this one just a moment ago, and there were two people in there already to greet him.

'Hey, James,' the boy seated next to the window said as they entered. 'You have a good summer?'

'Pretty good,' James replied, slumping down against the seat. 'Saw a few Quidditch games – the Cannons are choking, by the way, as we all knew they would."

"They're not out yet!" the boy exclaimed.

"They will be, Ethan, they will be," James sounded very wise. "How you doing, Marc?"

The other boy in the compartment looked up from a heavy book that lay open on his lap. Standing in the doorway with Rose, Albus could see a whole page of complex ruins that gave him a headache just to look at. Was his first year going to be as hard as that? The books he'd gotten from Diagon Alley were nowhere near as thick as that one.

"James Potter," the boy said, with a small nod. "They let you back in for another year?"

"Wild hippogriffs couldn't keep me away."

Marc looked from James and then over to Albus. "And judging from the hair you could only be James's young brother, Albus Potter? You look a lot more like your father than he does."

"James has never learned the subtle art of introduction," the boy who had defended the Chudley Cannons said. "I'm Ethan Trevaine. Nice to meet you, Al, and your friend..."

"Rose Weasley," Rose beamed, and together she and Albus entered the compartment and took a seat.

"And Marcus Douglas," the other boy said, pushing his silver-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and offering his hand first to Rose and then Albus.

"Oh yeah," James shrugged. "Al, Rose, these are my friends Ethan and Marc."

"Marc_us_."

"Marc_us_," James emphasized the full name. "He's our walking library and possibly the smartest second year student Hogwarts has ever seen. We use his knowledge for evil, as you'll see, Al."

"Marc's the brains and I'm the brawn of the operation," Ethan nodded. "James is the comic relief, the nerdy sidekick to our otherwise impressive act... what else do you do for this friendship, Potter?"

Albus laughed along with the others as James huffed and scowled. "I'm the face of the group, the handsome Quidditch player."

"You're not on the team yet," Ethan said.

"A less than significant detail, my unambitious friend. The seeker position is open this year, and I've a shiny new _Windburn_ my dad picked up over the holidays."

"I've got one too," Albus piped in. "Maybe I'll try out and be seeker."

Marcus smiled. "First you've got to be sorted into Gryffindor to be on the house team, Albus."

"I will be," Albus said, awesomely relieved at what his dad had told him back on the platform. He could _choose_ Gryffindor.

"We've been through this already," James laughed. "You've got the small, beady eyes of a Slytherin."

"I do not!"

"Do too – you'll fit right in down there under the lake with the rest of the snakes."

Albus couldn't be budged. "You'll see, James. I'll be a Gryffindor. Rose, too."

"That's the spirit." Marcus smiled. "But the Sorting Hat will decide."

The marvellous sooty-grey air around London faded away as the train left the city and began the long trek north to Hogsmeade Station, winding up and through the English countryside.

Albus was content to discuss Quidditch with James and his friends, yet Rose was looking a little bored and soon disappeared behind a _Witch Weekly_ magazine, leaving the boys to their own ends.

A few hours into the trip the train sped out from underneath the canopy of heavy grey clouds in the south and the sun streamed in through the compartment window quite warmly.

"I wonder who'll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year?" Ethan said. "Professor Cardelyon said she wasn't coming back, didn't she?"

James nodded. "I heard some Auror from the Ministry was stepping in. Dad made sure we had someone who knew what they were talking about."

"Who better than an Auror?" Marcus asked rhetorically. "Do you think we'll be learning offensive magic this year? Curses and hexes?"

"I already know a lot of that already," James said.

"I do too," Albus cut in. "Dad's been teaching us that stuff for years."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Harry Potter. Your dad is so cool."

"He didn't like that he had to give up one of his Aurors to be the Defence teacher," James said, shaking his head. "Did he, Al?"

Albus agreed with his brother, but said nothing. His dad hadn't been happy at all when Headmistress McGonagall had flooed over during the summer to inform him that the position was open again - for the third year in a row, apparently. James and Albus had been listening on the stairs, knowing they shouldn't have been, and they nearly didn't recognise the tone in their dad's voice.

He had been angry when his voice was _never_ angry. Not like that, at least, not cold and flat. Albus knew his dad had been trying to hide something, something that scared him. Both he and James had no idea what that could be – their dad was Harry Potter, after all, and scared of nothing. The bad wizards were scared of him.

"What do they teach first-years in Defence?" Rose asked, coming out from behind her magazine now that the topic of conversation had finally steered away from Quidditch.

"Nothing really exciting," Ethan said with a shrug. "Just a lot of book work, not a lot of wand work."

James nodded. "Yeah, the theory's okay, but not much magic."

"Don't let these two discourage you," Marcus said. He had been chopping and changing the book on his lap all trip, reading page after page whilst still keeping up with the conversation. He currently had his second year DADA text open, and spun the book toward Albus and Rose. "The theory is the best part. Knowing _why_ to defend yourself, and against what. Not just blasting away with nasty hexes."

"What's that?" Rose asked, pointing at the creature on display in Marcus's book.

The Gryffindor boy smiled. "That's a lethifold. Miss Weasley. A living shroud half an inch thick. A black cloak that slinks along the ground and smothers sleeping humans. It then proceeds to digest its prey alive, leaving not a trace."

Albus struggled to suppress a shiver that he hoped none of the others noticed. He gazed at the moving picture of the silent black cloak, slinking along a sandy beach in the starlight. He thought the scariest thing about the creature was the fact that it had no eyes. How could it see or sense its prey? He didn't want to know.

"And on that happy note," James said, sensing his brother's discomfort. "Do you think it's too early or could we get away with a few charms?" He dug into his pocket and drew his heavy oak wand. "_Rictusempra!_"

Albus exploded in a fit of giggles as the tickling charm hit him and he forgot all about the lethifold, rolling about on his seat laughing. He slipped off the leather upholstery and onto the floor, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. He was extremely ticklish! He managed to reach into his own pocket and withdrew his slim holly wand. A wand that looked a lot like his dad's.

"_P-pro,_" Albus laughed. _"Protego!"_

He had read ahead in a lot of his school books, and the shield charm was one of the very first spells he had asked his dad about two months ago. He remembered the proud look in his dad's eyes as he had explained and then flourished his own wand and called a magical shield into existence – thick and strong and practically _humming_ with raw strength.

Albus's was no where near perfect. A brief flare of electric-blue light ignited the tip of his wand and disappeared just as quickly. It was enough to break the connection of James's tickling charm, and Albus crawled back into his seat short of breath and still giggling.

"That's the only charm James has under his belt, Al," Ethan said. He had drawn his own wand and was carefully levitating a small silver sickle above his head. It must have been good to use magic again after a two month break. "You learn anything stronger than a tickling charm and you'll be able to take your older brother in a duel."

Albus's eyes lit up and a fierce grin slipped across his face.

"Don't get any ideas," James said. "He's bluffing. I know several nastier hexes, and if worst comes to worst I can still wrestle you to the ground, pipsqueak."

"That was a pretty good effort, Albus, at the shield charm" Marcus said. A speculative frown creased his brow.

"Dad taught me how it works months ago." Albus shrugged, a little self-consciously. "Never tried it before, and it didn't really work that well... it should've knocked the tickling charm back at James." Albus twirled his wand like he'd seen his dad do, mouthing the incantation silently. "Plenty of time to practice, I suppose."

"You'll need it in Slytherin House," James quipped.

"For it to work at all is an achievement." Marcus removed his glasses and used his shirt to wipe the lenses clean. "I'd watch out, if I were you, James. Your baby brother may be able to wipe the floor with you one day."

"Yeah, the same day I find Merlin's lost Book of Lore and use it to grow wings on pigs."

The rest of the train ride past uneventfully and a lot of people popped into the compartment to say hello to James and his friends, all of them chatting excitedly about the prospect of another year at Hogwarts and how the holidays went. Albus wondered just how many other first-years there were, and how many of them he'd get to know over the next year.

As the sun began to set in the west, Albus and Rose followed suit with James, Ethan, and Marcus and changed in to their Hogwarts robes.

Albus stared with a mounting tension at the red and gold Gryffindor emblems on the other boys' robes, the fierce lion. He saw Rose doing the same. His nerves jangled and whispered thoughts fluttered across his mind... _what if the Sorting Hat doesn't let me choose? What if dad was wrong?_ _How can I write home saying I'm a Slytherin? It does matter, it does..._

The train pulled into Hogsmeade Station at full dark and the moon hung low in the eastern sky just above the hills as Albus and Rose descended onto the platform that was packed with milling students. Albus shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Albus heard a familiar voice.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there, Albus?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

Albus had known the groundskeeper of Hogwarts since he had been born. Rubeus Hagrid was his godfather, and a great friend of his dad's. His father had nothing but respect and even love for the half-giant man.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

At the head of the group of first-years Albus and Rose followed Hagrid down a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side that Albus feared stumbling down the crest of the path and falling into the thick trees below. Rose squeezed his hand, whether for her own sake or his he didn't know. The nerves over what was to come were killing him.

"Hogwarts is jus' round this bend here," Hagrid called over his shoulder.

Albus felt his jaw drop and a rising gasp spread back through the throng of students. The narrow path opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. And perched atop a high mountain on the other side, sparkling in the starry sky and just simply _glowing_ with warmth, was the place where legends were born.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – the vast castle with its many turrets and towers – stood welcoming them against the night sky.

Someone behind Albus whispered, "It's real..." just below hearing. Excited giggles and wide-eyed astonishment burst forth from the group.

"To the boats," Hagrid called, and led the way to a fleet of little boats sitting in the calm water by the shore. "No more'n four of yer to a boat!"

Albus and Rose clambered into one of the river craft, followed by a boy with blonde hair slicked back over his head and a narrow, pointed chin. Behind that boy a young girl with flushed cheeks and brunette curls.

Scorpius Malfoy, Albus had overhead Uncle Ron back at Kings Cross. And he had no clue who the girl was. They stared at each other for a moment, and in that moment there was something Albus instantly disliked about Scorpius. His eyes were flat and unreadable.

"Everyone in? Good, good – FORWARD!" Hagrid shouted from his own boat at the front of the group.

The fleet moved off all at once, gliding across the glass-smooth lake as silent as the stars overhead. It only took a few moments for the high turrets of the castle to tower over them all completely.

In total silence the dozens of first-year students gazed at the magical castle in varying degrees of disbelief and wonder. Albus thought he could pick the muggleborn kids from the crowd of boats simply by the sheer boggling of their eyes. Although Rose looked pretty astonished, too.

Halfway across the lake and Albus felt a fierce _thrumming_ in his head, like a headache with a heartbeat, and he realised it had been building ever since he had gotten off the Hogwarts Express. He swayed as a bolt of pain lanced through his skull and a sense of great... _strength_ washed over him like a wave. He would have toppled into the lake if not for Rose, who clutched his arm hard.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm nervous, too, but we'll be Gryffindors, Al, just you wait and see."

Albus shook his head. "No, it's—"

But what exactly was it? Already the pain was fading, and the feeling of awesome power that had gripped him already seemed absurd and imagined. He felt a little embarrassed that his nerves were strong enough to make him almost faint. He caught Scorpius staring at him with that same unreadable expression and gritted his teeth, fighting back his anxiety.

A cliff face loomed up ahead and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening. Along a dark tunnel that took them well beneath the castle they reached a kind of underground harbour, and the boats pulled up to a wooden dock that led to a shore of rocks and pebbles.

Albus was reflecting on the journey over the lake as he and Rose followed Hagrid and the others up a passageway in the rock. Gazing at the starlit castle on the magical boats had been awe-inspiring, and for the first time in his young life Albus understood something he had known for years, but never fully respected...

Hundreds of people had fought for this castle in the Battle of Hogwarts nearly twenty years ago now. Both for and against Voldemort, for and against Harry Potter. His dad had been willing to die for this castle, for all of his friends, and that was such a _big_ thing that it made Albus feel very, very small. And gave him a lot to live up to, he thought.

According to some of the histories his dad should have died that horrible day, but he had survived the Killing Curse again, like when he was a baby. No one really understood how or why... but Albus knew it had something to do with his grandmother, Lily Potter, whom his sister was named for. And something to do with branches of magic never before explored, because too many people died trying...

Hagrid's lamp led the way out of the passageway of rock and on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked across to and up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Didn't lose any of yer, did I? Good!" Hagrid raised his gigantic fist and knocked three times on the heavy door.

The massive doors swung open at once. A short, bald headed wizard with prominent eyes and a large belly stood there smiling jovially.

"The firs'-years, Professor Slughorn," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, my good man—er, Professor Hagrid, I should say. I'll take them from here."

Albus's first thought inside the castle was that the Entrance Hall was so big you could get lost in it. Flaming torches lined the walls, giving off heat and light, and a marble staircase facing them all led to the upper floors.

Across the flagged stone floor, Albus could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway on the right – the Great Hall, he knew, and the rest of the school – but Professor Slughorn led them into a small empty chamber off from the main hall. There was a fireplace, and dull tapestries on the wall. A single window looked out on the night but nothing could be seen beyond a few feet. All of the first-years crowded in together, peering around nervously.

"Well, welcome to Hogwarts," Professor Slughorn said, flourishing his cloak with a small bow. "Soon we shall have the start-of-term banquet, but before you take your seats at the table you must be sorted into your houses!" Slughorn laughed, genuinely pleased. "Your house is your family for your time at Hogwarts. You will study and learn with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and so on, so on...

"The four houses are Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Each house has its own grand and noble history and each house has produced magnificent, extraordinary witches and wizards. Your triumphs at Hogwarts will earn you house points, whilst any rule-breaking will unfortunately lose you hard-earned points! The House Cup is awarded at the end of the year, a great honour and resplendent in my office. I'm the head of Slytherin House, by the way, my young fellows." Slughorn laughed again, tapping his portly belly and stroking his walrus-like moustache.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the school. Smarten yourselves up, straighten those cloaks, and cross your fingers. Good luck to you. I shall return in a few moments."

Albus stood near to Rose, not wanting to be alone as Slughorn left. Nervous chatter and shuddering breaths enveloped the room as the other first-years straightened their cloaks. Albus attempted to flatten his unruly black hair, yet no amount of combing or brushing had ever managed that. About five minutes later, Slughorn returned.

"Form a line and follow me, my young fellows," he said, and pushed aside the door of the chamber.

His teeth chattering with nerves, Albus got into line behind Rose and before a girl with sandy hair and eyes wet with tears. He smiled at her reassuringly, but she only squeaked as they walked out of the chamber and back across the hall to the double doors of the Great Hall.

Albus had heard stories, but he could never have imagined a place as wonderfully magical as this. There were thousands and thousands of candles lighting the hall floating above the four long house tables, which were packed with the rest of the students and all of the house ghosts. Golden plates and goblets glittered on the tables and, overhead, the night sky sparkled through the enchanted ceiling. The scent of magic was heavy on the air, like old books and the pine needles of Christmas trees.

It was magnificent.

Albus looked down from the sky as they approached a fifth long table at the top of the hall where the teachers were sitting. Headmistress McGonagall sat in the centre of that table, staring sternly down at the new first-years.

Slughorn had placed a four-legged stool in front of the frightened first-years, and on top of that stool he placed a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was patched and frayed with age.

"The Sorting Hat," Albus whispered. Over on his left he caught a glimpse of James sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ethan and Marcus. He couldn't wait to join them. Merlin willing, he wouldn't be waiting long.

The Sorting Hat twitched and a rip near the base opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing:

'_Another year gone, and a new one to begin,  
welcome to Hogwarts, young first-years,  
come place your head under my brim.  
I am the Sorting Hat, you see,  
and there's no smarter hat than me._

_  
Across all the years and all the ages  
I've sat on this here stool,  
and in the years to come will do so again,  
until Time itself plays us all for fools.  
I am the Sorting Hat, you see,  
and there's no smarter hat than me._

_  
The Houses united, is what I've lived to see,  
the heart of brave Gryffindor,  
the mind of pure Ravenclaw,  
the cunning of wise Slytherin,  
and young Hufflepuff's loyalty.  
I am the Sorting Hat, you see,  
and there's no smarter hat than me._

_A year of learning ahead  
and dusty minds to brush clean.  
No greater age we live in,  
no brighter future we see.  
So don't be afraid, young first-years,  
just come and trust in me.  
Place me upon your head and then you'll see,  
I am the Sorting Hat,  
and there's no smarter hat than me._

The whole hall erupted into applause and Albus found himself clapping along just as loudly as anyone. He had heard the hat spent all year thinking of a new song to sing before the school. It must have been hard to come up with something original like that year after year.

The thunderous applause died down after several minutes and Professor Slughorn stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"I shall call your name, and you shall step forward and place the hat on your head," he said. "Start from the top then, aye – Brookes, Timothy."

A young pale-faced boy stepped out of line and, trying not to let his nerves show, he ran forward and placed the hat on his head.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.

The Ravenclaw table exploded with cheers and the young boy, Timothy Brookes, went and sat down with a look of immense relief.

"Carlisle, Tabby," Slughorn called.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, and Tabby laughed as she joined her housemates at the table. The house ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, congratulated her personally.

"Davies, Derrick!" was next and became a Ravenclaw, but then "Goodard, Aerith," became the first Slytherin of the new year. Albus saw that she was the same curly-haired girl that had been sitting next to Scorpius Malfoy on the boat.

Albus's nerves were turned up to high as Slughorn made his way down the list. There was a burst of people between Goodard and Potter, about twenty, and in all that time he felt like he was going to be sick.

On some heads he noticed that the hat took its time, on most it shouted out a house at once.

"Longbottom, Hannah!"

Albus watched the young girl take the hat and place it on her head. He knew Hannah, had met her a few times at least when his parents took him over the Longbottom's on occasion. He took a good look at the head table for the first time and saw Neville Longbottom there now – _Professor Longbottom_ – leaning forward eagerly as his daughter was sorted.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat called immediately.

The Gryffindor table erupted just as eagerly as it had for the other students to join its ranks.

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

Albus watched carefully as Scorpius approached the hat and, with a solemn nod, placed the worn fabric on his head. He expected it to shout Slytherin straight away but for a long moment there was nothing. Half a minute passed, the longest the hat had taken so far, and then...

"SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy nodded, removed the hat, and joined his housemates looking like he had expected nothing less.

"Olette, Richard," became a Slytherin too, and then "Parker, Rochelle," joined Hufflepuff.

Albus and Rose were the few left in the dwindled crowd of first-years. Finally, after all the anticipation, it was—

"Potter, Albus!"

Albus stepped forward looking a lot calmer than he felt. Whispers suddenly broke out and spread like wildfire all over the hall.

"Potter, he said..."

"_The _Harry Potter's son."

"Albus Potter. Name after Dumbledore – his dad's Harry Potter."

The dial on Albus's nerves was turned up a notch as he approached the hat. All the whispers, all of them knew who his father was, and knew what was expected of him. He was already imagining the shocked gasps and collective sigh that would rush through the hall when the hat announced him a Slytherin.

And then his brother bailed him out in true Gryffindor fashion.

"Oh my god!" James Potter exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by everyone. "That's Harry Potter's son!"

The fierce whispers faded away to sudden laughter, and with a small smile of his own, Albus hopped up onto the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on his head. The rows of students craning their necks to get a look at him disappeared under the brim of the hat.

"Hmmm... well, another Potter," said the small voice of the hat. "Good to see the family line strong again, young Potter. Far too few of you here over the last two generations... although the circumstances of that were beyond all of our control."

_My grandparents_, Albus thought, _murdered in the First Dark War._

"Terrible times, Potter," the hat whispered. "We have you father to thank for the light of today. And you are proving as hard to sort as he was all those years ago. Just look at this mind of yours."

Albus thought of what his dad had told him, that he could choose Gryffindor. He was about to suggest to the hat just that, but he paused... wanting to see where the hat itself thought he belonged first.

"A fine mind, a keen intellect – you're smart, lad, _very _smart. Oh my, yes. Ravenclaw, perhaps? Hmm... but what's this? Courage, bravery – to be expected in a Potter. Gryffindor? And there it is, the cunning and thirst to prove yourself – that is always interesting. Slytherin, mayhap? The first Slytherin Potter?"

Time was passing, Albus had been on the stool longer than any one else. He couldn't hold back any longer. "I don't want to be a Slytherin," he whispered. "Gryffindor..."

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "But the drive to be great is just as strong in you as it was in your father – greater, perhaps, desperate to match his deeds – yet your mind does not carry the same air of destiny as his did. Although there is something else..."

_What?_ Albus wondered.

"Something... new," the hat whispered, and it sounded not only surprised but mildly shocked. "Oh my, yes, it's all here in your head, young Potter. A _different_ air of destiny, yet there nevertheless, and that is as troubling as it is astounding, for there are no Dark Lords to be defeated, are there? No foul plots or blood-prejudice clouding the world? Hmm..." The hat seemed to fade away into deep thought.

Another minute passed, and Albus could hear mutterings from the house tables now. He had to have been waiting four or five minutes to be sorted. "Gryffindor," he said. "I choose Gryffindor."

"Ah yes, I knew you would from the start," the hat replied. "So be it. Yet a word of caution, young Potter, there is change on the air and in your head. Study hard, make good friends... It does not feel like it did before, but there is _something_ on the horizon, mark my words." And then, at long last, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Albus took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He received the loudest cheer from the hall yet, and half of his new house mates wouldn't let him sit down before he had shook their hands. Nearly-Headless Nick floated over to him, offering his pale hand, which Albus took with a shiver than ran right through him like a snowstorm.

The last person to be sorted was Rose Weasley, and she too became a Gryffindor. With the roar of applause she took a seat next to Albus, blushing to the tips of her hair, her face beaming joy and happiness so much that Albus laughed.

The laughter was the last of his nerves departing, he knew, knowing now that it had been silly to have been so worried about the ceremony. He was a Gryffindor, just like Rose and James and his dad, and he'd send Merlin off with a letter home first thing tomorrow to let his family know.

His nerves were replaced by a fierce hunger, and Albus stared wistfully at his golden plate. It wasn't quite yet time to eat, however.

Headmistress McGonagall stood after Slughorn had removed the Sorting Hat and taken his seat at the head table. She cleared her throat and a respectful silence fell over the Great Hall.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," she said, her face stern. "As is tradition, I will not keep you long. Please, enjoy the start-of-term feast."

No sooner had she finished than the dishes in front of Albus were piled with food. He had expected it, yet it was still a surprise to see more food than he ever had in his life appear all at once. He filled his plate with roast chicken and potatoes, his goblet with juice, and smeared gravy all over everything.

"This is wonderful," Rose exclaimed, biting into a pork chop. "Real house elf cooking."

"Hi, Albus," Hannah Longbottom said from across the table. "Good to see you again."

"You too, Hannah," Albus muttered through a mouth of potato.

"Can you believe we're all Gryffindors!"

Albus shook his head. "I was worried for a minute there."

"Hey, Al," James shouted down the table. "Good work, mate, knew you could do it."

Albus slowly chewed his chicken and blinked at James, recalling the almost non-stop remarks that he would be, without a doubt, a Slytherin. He couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, James."

After everyone had eaten more than they could possibly eat the piles of food disappeared and were replaced with every type of dessert imaginable. From ice cream, to tarts, to pies and pastries. Albus dug in with renewed enthusiasm until he thought his stomach would burst. The cherry tarts were particularly good.

The plates and golden cutlery disappeared after the feast, and the animated chatter throughout the hall died down as the Headmistress stood again, clearing her throat imperiously.

"Just a few start-of-term announcements before we retire for the evening," McGonagall began. "First-years are to note that the forest in the ground is forbidden to all pupils. It is the home of many and varied magical creatures, and must not be entered under any circumstances."

Albus had heard his Uncle Ron's stories of the spiders that lived in the forest. He shivered. There was no reason he could foresee that would intentionally lead him into the forest.

"The caretaker Mr. Filch would like me to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. And that the blanket ban on all Weasley Wizarding Wheezes products is still in full force."

Rose chuckled under her breath, her eyes sparkling.

"Quidditch trials for all house teams will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams may apply, including first-years for any reserve positions if you can manage a broom."

Albus knew how to handle a broom. His dad had been teaching him for years, and he had a brand new shiny _Windburn_ for the tryouts. Being a seeker, just like his father, was one of Albus' aims for that year, now that becoming a Gryffindor was out of the way.

"And finally," Headmistress McGonagall said, "I would like to introduce the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Alfred Drogin."

There was polite applause throughout the hall and a tall man with a severe brow and greying hair stood up at the head table, nodding his head once. He wore thick, dark robes and his eyes scanned the hall back and forth. Albus thought there was nothing that would escape the man's notice.

"Professor Drogin joins us as a Senior member of the Ministry's Auror Department. I'm sure you will all find his experience in both the theory and practically aspects of Defence to be most enthralling. Now that will be all. I welcome you back a final time and wish you all a very good year. Goodnight."

The Gryffindor first-years followed the fifth-year prefects through the chattering crowds as the hall emptied out. Albus and Rose were both feeling extremely sluggish, stuffed to the brim as they were with good food and drink. They were led up the marble staircase and through hidden passageways behind tapestries and sliding panels. Along the amazing moving staircases and past the many moving portraits adorning the walls they came to a long corridor.

At the end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman – The Fat Lady.

"Password?" she asked.

"_Tempus Fugit_,' the male prefect said, and the portrait swung forward. Albus and Rose scrambled up and into the Gryffindor common room – a cosy room with a roaring fireplace and soft, cushioned armchairs.

"Boys the stairs to your left, girls on the right," the prefect said, yawning. "Straight on up to bed if you wish."

Albus bade Rose and Hannah goodnight and followed his year mates up the spiral staircase of the tower and into the room marked _**First Year**_ with a golden plaque on the door. Inside the five four-poster beds hung with deep-red velvet curtains looked very inviting. Albus found his trunk had already been brought up. He was too tired to talk much – his new roommates all were – and he quickly got changed into his pyjamas and fell into bed.

"Night, guys," he mumbled, and a chorus of muffled replies were returned to him the same.

Sleep was quick in coming, and it was the deep, satisfied sleep of a long day drawing to a close, of a full heavy stomach and a soft feather pillow.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Hey there, readers. Thank you for reading yet again. Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter, especially the Sorting Hat song. Would you believe that only took me five minutes to write? Oh yes, I'm a poetic genius. Next chapter is in the works, should be a fun one with a little mystery thrown into the mix. Ciao for now,_

_joe6991_


	4. Chapter 2: To Days To Come

_**Disclaimer: **__This all belongs to someone elese, namely the Harry Potter franchise. If I owned a fraction of this I'd be sitting on a beach drinking whiskey and coke, and laughing..._

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to everyone who has been reading. Please review, I'd love to know what more of you think._

* * *

_**Chapter 2: To Days to Come**_

_Destiny, change, fate, fortune -  
they're all just ways of claiming your  
successes without claiming your failures._

_Anon_

Albus awoke the morning after the Sorting Ceremony to a day that was crisp and clear, with a small breeze blowing in through the open tower window that carried with it just a hint of the winter to come in a few months time.

He yawned and rolled over, not quite willing just yet to surrender the squashy warmth of his bed for anything less than a total emergency. His roommates were slowly waking as well. He could hear a few of them stumbling about, heading for the showers.

_But the drive to be great is just as strong in you as it was in your father – greater, perhaps, desperate to match his deeds..._

Albus sighed and sat up, recalling the confusing words of the Sorting Hat. It had said a lot, that old hat, but those words rang most strongly in Albus's head. His father had cast a very, very long shadow, and Albus just knew that everybody was expecting his children to do great things.

He felt a spike of resentment towards his father for that, but immediately felt sorry for it. His dad hadn't asked to be the hero of the wizarding world, hadn't wanted any of the adventures forced upon him. But he'd had the chance to be great, a destiny paved at his feet, and he'd won through to the end.

All Albus could hope to do this year was play reserve at Quidditch, and even that was a long shot...

He rolled out of bed and into the shower, and after that dressed for the first time in his brand-new dark Hogwarts robes with the Gryffindor emblem roaring fiercely on his chest.

"My parents are muggles," a young boy with dark curly hair was saying to a taller lad, as Albus stepped back into the room. "Had no idea what to expect when we went to Diagon Alley. And Hogwarts! If they could see this place! Are there any other surprises I should know about before I step foot out there today?"

"Only about a million," Albus smiled, walking over. "I'm Albus Potter."

"Frank Jackson," the muggle-born boy said, offering his hand. "I've heard a bit about you, of course."

Albus shrugged. "You mean you've heard about my dad."

"Harry Potter," the tall boy said, smiling. "I'm Gary Thomas. My dad knew your dad when they came here, helped him fight in the Battle and everything."

Albus thought about that for a moment. "Your dad's Dean Thomas. I've met him a few times, at Quidditch."

"Is it true your dad killed an _evil_ wizard?" Frank Jackson whispered, his eyes wide.

"Is it ever!" Gary exclaimed. "The most evil wizard who ever lived. The only reason muggle-borns are still around is because of Al's dad here."

Albus was feeling a mite embarrassed. He had never really had to discuss his father like this before. He couldn't also help but feel a streak of fierce pride.

"How'd you mean?" Frank asked. "Why wouldn't I be around?"

Albus shook his head. "That's a very long and complicated question there, Frank. There are magical folk who think that the purity of blood actually means something, that if your parents aren't magical, and their parents aren't magical, and their parents aren't magical, and their parents and their goldfish aren't magical, then you aren't worthy enough to use magic, that you are, in fact, stealing it from the purebloods."

"Absolute tosh, of course," Gary said, although there was a hard edge to his voice. The prejudice angered him as much as it did Albus.

"Voldemort-" Albus continued, "-that's the wizard my dad did in twenty years ago, when he was at school here. He believed in the purity of blood, and went about as bad as you can go to see the magical world "purged" of people with muggle parents, or even one muggle parent – half-bloods."

"But that's just silly," Frank said.

Albus's face was grim. He had grown up on stories of the Dark Wars, of the cost of one _silly_ idea. "Voldemort was crazy, Frank, but he had the power to back up his claims. He killed and ordered the deaths of hundreds of people, and tried to kill my dad more than once."

Frank swallowed, looking a little uneasy. "Are there people still like that? That will hate me because of my mum and dad?"

Albus shrugged. "A lot's changed, according to mum, but there are some who cling to the old ways. They're just not as open about it as they were when Voldemort was around."

"Slytherins," Gary scowled. 'If you're looking for pureblooded bigots, start there."

"Not necessarily," Albus sighed. "Like I said, it's complicated, Frank."

"I'll say..."

"Anyway, good to meet you both," said Albus. "You want to head down to breakfast? We're supposed to get our timetables from Professor Longbottom."

That was a good idea embraced by all three boys, and making sure they had their wands and their bags stuffed with books and fresh parchment, ink and quill and anything that could possibly be needed for their first day, they set off down through the castle for the first time alone, heading for the Great Hall.

Rose and Hannah were already seated at the Gryffindor table, as were most of the students at all house tables. Breakfast was in full swing, and slipping into a seat next to Hannah, Albus quickly grabbed some toast and jam and filled his goblet with pumpkin juice.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Rose said from across the table. "We thought you boys would sleep right through your first day."

Albus grinned. "It's tough getting up before nine, especially after a summer of getting up after twelve."

Frank nodded in agreement of that. "Pretty exciting though, isn't it? I haven't managed to do any magic with my wand yet. Can't wait to get started."

"Professor Longbottom handed out timetables," Rose said. "I've got yours here. We've got Transfiguration followed by Charms and then Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Albus accepted the square of card and glanced up and down at his course list for the first week. He had Potions tomorrow, with Professor Slughorn and the Slytherins, History of Magic as well. Tomorrow afternoon was also flying practice, which he was definitely looking forward to.

"Transfiguration is turning something into something else, isn't it?" Frank asked. His brow was deeply furrowed, as if he were trying to absorb and memorize everything on his timetable then and there.

"Basically, no," a new voice said from behind Frank.

"Hiya, Marcus," Albus greeted his brother's friend. "Where's James?"

"_Boo!_"

Albus yelped and jumped in his seat as a pair of hands clapped him on his shoulders. He looked back and scowled at his older brother, who ruffled his hair and leaned over to snatch a piece of toast.

"Transfiguration," Marcus continued, "can not be so easily simplified. Modifying the properties of one object to another is but a small part of the field, the least complex. Transfiguration involves conjuring objects out of thin air - minding Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, of course – switching spells, vanishing spells." Marcus's eyes were alight with intelligence, sparkling with the thrill of explanation. "And, of course, self-transfiguration. Becoming an animagus or modifying your body."

James clapped slowly. "Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses to the Hogwarts' Walking Library himself, Mr Marcus Douglas."

Marcus sighed. "And on that note, we better set off for Charms, Potter. We're on the eighth floor in the east tower."

James frowned and whipped out his timetable. "Aw, man," he said. "We have to walk half a mile first thing on a Monday morning. Merlin save me!"

_Merlin_, Albus thought, thinking of his owl and not the wizard, _I have to write mum and dad today._

"How do we get to Transfiguration?" Frank asked as James and Marcus set off for the east tower.

Gary Thomas checked his watch. "We've got about fifteen minutes to find out before class starts."

"There's a map on the back of your timetable," Hannah said. "We're three floors up. Should set off now though, just in case the staircases move away from that part of the castle."

And so together they set off, and Albus realised that he was already fast making friends. Rose he knew well, and Hannah he had met a few times, but Frank and Gary were just as eager as he was to fit in at Hogwarts. He wondered briefly if these people were going to be his friends for the next seven years of school, and didn't think he would mind that in the least.

On their way up through the castle Albus and the others got swept along in the crowds of students from all years heading to their first lessons of the term. By the time they reached the Transfiguration rooms they were only just on time, two minutes to spare. There was already a crowd of first-years milling about the closed double doors. The emblems on their robes were Gryffindor-red and Ravenclaw-blue.

"Do you know any Transfiguration, Al?" Frank whispered. He was passing his wand nervously from hand to hand. "I don't know any of this... what if I can't do it?" His last words came out as a rough whisper.

"Relax," Albus replied. "I've seen it done before – my dad can do some pretty impressive things with his wand – but doing it myself, never. We're all beginners."

Suddenly the double doors swung open, and the first-years crammed through the doorway and into a spacious room lined with solid wooden desks and chairs. Up at the head of the room, before a heavy, dusty chalkboard stood Headmistress McGonagall.

"Take a seat, please," she said.

Albus and Frank were forced forward through the crowd and ended up at a desk nearer the front of the room. A lot of the class, probably seeing the Headmistress as rather intimidating, had filled up the desks from the back forward. Rose and Hannah were sitting together behind Albus, and Gary had ended up next to a Ravenclaw boy he seemed to know. Albus recognised him from the Sorting, but couldn't recall his name._ Jim? Tim? Something Brookes._

"Welcome to your first Transfiguration lesson," Headmistress McGonagall began. "My name is Professor McGonagall and I will be your instructor for your first year. My position as Headmistress unfortunately restricts me from a heavier student-load in the higher years, but I still have time to personally get to know each and every new student coming to Hogwarts."

Her stern expression softened into something akin to happiness as she surveyed the group.

"From your second year and right up and through any NEWT studies you may pursue, your instructor will be Professor Jauncey, whom I'm sure you'll meet sometime during this year."

And then the kindness vanished, replaced by the strict and clever look Albus had seen her wear most of the times he had seen her.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

There were several audible gulps around the room, but they were fast replaced by awed gasps as Professor McGonagall flourished her wand and changed her desk into a gaggle of geese and back again, to tremendous applause from the first-years.

"That will be quite enough, thank you. It will be many years before you will be able to manage split-transfiguration." Her Scottish accent was quick and severe and brooked no argument.

Albus imagined it would be quite hard to transfigure a single inanimate object into a single animate one, let alone five geese from a single object. He whistled low under his breath. Although he could see how it was done - split the source five ways and work six strands of atomised magic, five for the geese and one for the stabilised continuation, in to the main body of the subject and fuse the animal characteristics of the goose—

_I have nothing more to say to you, Potter, he said quietly. You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!_

Albus winced as a sharp and clear bolt of pain rippled across his forehead, battering through his skull. He saw... _something, _something with crimson eyes, and then it was gone. It was so fast and so _fierce_ that he almost cried out, slipping down in his chair.

_If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy..._

It hurt – _hurt_ was too soft a word - the pain in his forehead was blinding. Albus leant over in his chair, his stomach turning on him, and he threw up his hastily-eaten breakfast down his robes and all over the floor. The world was spinning, crimson eyes and lightning pain; _the light of tomorrow is the darkness in the depths of the earth—_

Professor McGonagall was levitating matchsticks onto everyone's desks. "Copy the notes from the board, understand the theory, and transfigure your match into a sharp silver needle."

Albus sucked in a harsh breath. He was sitting up at his desk and his robes were clean. His breakfast sat easily in his stomach. There was no pain. He rubbed his forehead, expecting his hand to come away bloody from a split scalp – but there was nothing.

"Are you okay?" Frank whispered. "You're face is flushed. You look like you've run a mile."

"I—" Albus felt tears in his eyes but he forced them back. He _would not_ cry in front of the class. There was no pain, he was okay. _But those eyes had been terrible—_ "I'm fine, just felt a little dizzy there. Worn out, I guess, busy few days."

Frank nodded but he looked unsure. "Just don't throw up on my robes!" he joked, but looked uneasy when Albus flinched.

"Frank, did you feel, just a minute ago—"

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Jackson, have you finished scripting today's notes from the blackboard?" Professor McGonagall appeared out of nowhere, standing before their desk. "May I see your transfigured matches?"

"Sorry, ma'am," Frank mumbled, blushing to his roots and inking his quill fast, beginning to scrawl the transfiguration notes.

Albus just sat there a moment, still reeling from... from _whatever_.

"Mr. Potter?" McGonagall raised a single eyebrow.

A heavy moment fell, a few seconds ticked by on Albus's wristwatch. "Sorry, Professor," he said, feeling absolutely fine. He dipped his eagle-feather quill in his pot of fresh ink and hastily scribbled _**Foundations of First Grade Transfiguration**_ across his scroll of parchment.

McGonagall returned to her desk and the fast and whispery sound of quills scratching across thirty rolls of parchment filled the room. Albus copied the notes as best he could, but his mind was elsewhere, on the pain he had felt and the... the strange _images_ he had seen and heard.

He recalled now the swift and certain pain he had felt on the small boat sailing to the castle last night for the Sorting Ceremony. A headache with a heartbeat, he had likened it to, but this was a hundred times worse – a headache playing around with a muggle chainsaw in his skull. On the lake he had chalked up the brief spike of pain to nerves about finally coming to Hogwarts, finally being sorted into a house. Now he was not so sure...

And what about the thoughts he had had moments before it had happened? The knowing and the surety of how Headmistress McGonagall had transfigured her desk into the geese. He had been so sure that was how it was done, so confident that he could do it himself with ease, and now it was nothing but nonsense he had no hope of understanding. _Atomised magic? Stabilised continuation?_ The words meant nothing – he did not even know basic transfiguration.

He was supposed to be learning it right now.

The rest of the lesson swam by in a bit of a blur for Albus, and try as he might he could not transfigure his match into a needle, although near the end it did take on a silvery-sheen. No one else in the class had much luck either, but Professor McGonagall ensured them not to be disheartened, and then proceeded to assign the task for homework to be completed by their next lesson on Wednesday.

The next lesson the first-year Gryffindor's had before lunch was Charms with Professor Flitwick. The Charms rooms were only five minutes from the Transfiguration rooms, and Albus, Frank, Rose, Gary, and Hannah walked there together, all of them save Albus chatting excitedly about their first magical lesson.

Albus's thoughts were in other places, on the weird headaches and the vision he had seen. He knew who those eyes belonged to, and the voice, as well. Although he had not so much heard that but _felt_ it in his mind.

Lord Voldemort – talking to Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards ever and the man he had been named for. _If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy..._

His dad had been a boy during Voldemort's rise to power twenty years ago, and it would be fair to say was quite a thorn in the Dark Lord's side. Albus was gripped with a vicious certainty that _the boy_ was his father, and that he had caught a glimpse of one of the battles between the greatest and most deadly wizards of the age. Albus shuddered. All of these thoughts were beginning to scare him, and he didn't know what to do about it. It was only his first day.

As Albus and his new friends entered the Charms room for the first time, the youngest Potter son decided to wait and see what would happen –_ if_ anything would happen again – and leave it at that. It had only been a few moments of pain, just a brief headache, and nothing like this had happened to him before.

Charms found Albus seated between Rose and Gary on a long wooden bench as Professor Flitwick introduced himself and the course outline for the year. The small-wizard stood upon a stack of books and cushions at the head of the room, jumping up and down as he demonstrated some of the more average wand-movements they would need to master in order to work even a basic charm.

"And now," Flitwick said, "we shall learn what many believe to be the most useful charm a first-year can know. _Wingardium Leviosa,_ the levitating charm. Primarily used for light-weight objects – you will have noted the feathers in front of you - yet any and all manner of objects can be levitated if the _intention_ behind the casting is strong enough." Flitwick grinned and chuckled. "Why, one could levitate the club straight out of a troll's grubby hand, if needs be!"

Flitwick had them practice the correct wand movements for thirty minutes before allowing any actual magic to take place. Albus felt fairly confident he had it down correctly after only a few tries, and was anxious to see if he was any better at Charms than he had been at Transfiguration. So far his wand had produced very little visible magic.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Rose said, a little accent to the words. Her feather spun once on the desk and stopped. She _tsk_ed and tried again, furrowing her brow.

Albus eyed his thick, white feather and shrugged. He moved his wand just like Flitwick had said and whispered the incantation. _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Albus felt it tingle down his arm before it shot up his wand and into the feather. A thin reed of pure magic enveloped the feather and it was fired like shot from a cannon straight up. Albus – and half the class of Gryffindors and Huflepuffs - - gasped as the feather struck the ceiling with a bang a lot louder than a simple feather could make and exploded in a small shower of silver-red sparks which sprinkled down harmlessly to the floor.

"The right intention, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said into the silence, chuckling. "Yet a little too much power behind that. Charms are a delicate art. Try it again, and _ask_ the magic to work, don't force it."

Albus opened his mouth to say he hadn't done any such thing, that he'd only wanted the feather to levitate and done exactly as instructed. Instead he concentrated, pointed his wand at Frank's feather as the class looked on, watching his movements.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

He felt that tingle again, the magic, only this time he recognised it for what it was, and before it shot out of his wand he imagined the feather calmly rising and floating above his head like he had seen Ethan do it on the train yesterday with a coin. The charm hit the feather, and Albus felt the tingle down his arm intensify and surge through his wand, spilling over the feather. Something fierce and hostile pushed his magic forward. He winced, expecting another burst of flames, but was simply astonished when the feather rose quite calmly halfway to the roof – taking the heavy, elongated desk with it.

Students ducked and dived out of the way as quills and pots of ink, scrolls of parchment and a dozen loose feathers rolled off the desk and toward their heads. An overturned ink pot spilt dark black ink through Hannah Longbottom's light-brown hair and she squealed.

Honest surprise was etched all over Albus's face. He kept his calm, even when his own inkpot hit him on the shoulder, stinging and splattering his face with black droplets, and slowly but surely lowered the desk back down to the floor with his wand. He let it go a few inches too soon and it hit the stone slabs with a _bang_. A heavy fatigue rushed through Albus's arm; it felt like he'd lifted the whole thing himself.

"My, my," Professor Flitwick said, bouncing down off his stack of books and rushing forward. "Is everyone okay? Good, good—Miss Longbottom, you may want to excuse yourself to go wash up before that ink dries, Miss Weasley, go with her and try not to get lost! _Scourgify!_" Flitwick cast a small cleaning charm, but it didn't get much of the ink off Hannah's face or hair. She scowled at Albus as Rose led her from the room.

"Sorry, Hannah," he called after her, smudging drops of ink into his cheek.

"Mr. Potter." Professor Flitwick regarded Albus over his spectacles. "You have as much raw power in your spellwork as I've ever seen in any eager first-year. You'll need to work on harnessing that strength to control it, and not have your magic produce unwanted... side-effects."

Albus nodded, slightly abashed.

"That said your... demonstration was quite extraordinary for a first attempt. Ten points to Gryffindor for not only levitating your feather first, but everyone else's, too!"

Frank and Gary were both laughing and clapping Albus on the back once Charms ended an hour later and they set off for the Great Hall for lunch. Hannah and Rose walked ahead, and although Hannah regarded him a bit coolly – her hair was stained right through and would need several washings – she softened at the fact that Albus had already earned Gryffindor ten house points.

All in all, Albus thought as he loaded up his plate at the Gryffindor table with fruit salad and two roast chicken sandwiches, his first morning at Hogwarts had taken a few unexpected turns. He was still a little concerned about what had happened in Transfiguration, but he had felt fine since then and already he was pushing it to the back of his mind. It was a problem if it happened again, but right now he was enjoying a good lunch and looking forward to the double period of Defence Against the Dark Arts that the first-years had with the Slytherins straight after lunch.

"So the Aurors are like the police?" Frank asked through a mouthful of cheese and crackers.

"That's right." Gary nodded. "They're a department of the Ministry of Magic, highly trained to take down wizards who use dark magic against others, provide security and such. Al's dad here is the head of the Aurors – no surprise there, aye."

"Professor Drogin's an Auror, isn't he?"

"Senior Auror," Albus nodded. He had seen Drogin once or twice before at Ministry functions he had attended with his mum and dad. "The elite of the elite. He answers directly to my dad."

"DADA should be a lot of fun then," Gary grinned. "Just think of the curses and hexes we're going to learn." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"How to _defend_ against," Rose corrected. "That's the whole point of the class."

Albus imagined he was already going to know bits and pieces about a lot of what Professor Drogin would cover that year. His dad didn't often talk about the nastier things that were out there, that as an Auror he defended the wizarding world against, but he did mention certain things probably beyond the knowledge of the average first-year. And there were a lot of books at home in the library that Albus had glanced at over the years. Especially in the last year with James being at Hogwarts and writing home about his classes and the magic he was learning every other day.

Ten minutes before the lesson started found Albus, Rose, Gary, Frank and Hannah already waiting outside of the DADA classroom with the rest of the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. The Slytherins were keeping to one half of the corridor, talking amongst themselves, as were the Gryffindors.

Albus learned the names of his other two roommates whilst waiting – Colin Creevey and Greg Cofler. Colin, a small boy with mousy brown hair, had magical parents, and his father had been at Hogwarts with Albus's dad, just a year below. Greg was a big lad for his age, towering over Colin, and he was muggle-born – still taking everything with a pinch of salt.

Professor Drogin opened the door to his rooms and bade them enter a few minutes later. Albus's first assessment of the man last night at the feast proved to be somewhat accurate. The severe almost-frown he wore on his face marked his demeanour. No sooner were the first-years in the door than he proceeded to assign them a desk and chair.

"I'll have none of this house rivalry in my classroom," he said. "Seating arrangements are Gryffindor-Slytherin, and alphabetically by your surname."

This left Albus sitting about halfway back in the room, in front of Rose and behind Hannah, and sitting next to the Slytherin whose last name was closest to his in the alphabet.

_Malfoy, Scorpius._

Albus regarded the Slytherin boy with a caution he would not have shown any boy of Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff house, and Malfoy in return inclined his head and surveyed Albus emotionlessly, his expression completely unreadable.

"I'm Albus Potter."

"Gryffindor," Malfoy said, the word very nearly a sneer. "I am Scorpius Malfoy."

"Enough idle chatter, thank you," Professor Drogin said, standing before the class. "Now before we get started I will be laying down one or two ground rules that will be obeyed in my classroom at all times. That is, you will obey or you will be removed from the room and never invited back. I want this clear from the beginning – this subject, no matter how droll or useless you may find some aspects of it – is the single most important thing you will study whilst at this castle, and the most dangerous."

He allowed those words to sink in, allowed everyone to sit up a little straighter and take note.

"Rule number one – your wand. Never enter my classroom without it; never let it out of arm's reach whilst here, and _never _cast a single spell without proper authorisation from your instructor – me. Clear?"

The last word was a rough bark and several people jumped in their seats. Albus didn't, and neither did Malfoy. The Slytherin looked mildly approving.

"Rule number two – your textbooks. Read them, cover to cover, five times this term. I shall expect you to have completed it at least once by the end of your second week. You will be quizzed, at random, on _any_ aspect within its pages – and some things you'll find yourself by perusing the cache of defence texts available in the school library. The clever, industrious, and grade-orientated amongst you will have already completed the assigned text – you know who you are."

The first-years glanced at each other around the room, trying to see and guess who might be ahead already. It did not look as though anyone in particular had read the book cover to cover yet, although Albus thought Scorpius Malfoy looked surprisingly confident.

Albus hadn't read the _whole_ book, or even most of it, but he fully intended to make a good start that evening now. Defence Against the Dark Arts was what his dad had excelled in, what Harry Potter had _always_ known more of than any other student.

"Rule number three – the golden rule," Professor Drogin said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "_Constant vigilance_... remember those two words, and you may just keep your head when the _shit_ hits the fan. And it will, my little first-years, it always does."

And here Professor Drogin paused again, a heavy silence falling over his words. Albus knew this man was a Senior Auror, which meant he must have seen and survived a lot to have made it so high in the department. He was old enough to have been an Auror when Voldemort had seized power – both the first and second times. Albus wondered briefly what sort of role Drogin had played during the wars. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would have been on the sidelines.

"You are young," Professor Drogin said into the silence, "and over the next few years there are going to be moments in your life that make you, that set the course for who you're going to be." He laughed, although it wasn't a happy sound. "Most of the time, they will be little, subtle moments. Sometimes... they won't be. Even if you see them coming, you'll never be ready for the big moments. But don't for a _damn _moment think that makes you helpless, that you don't have a choice between what is right and what is easy."

Drogin's eyes flashed across the room, over the heads in the first three rows and latched onto Albus's. He smiled.

"A man named Harry Potter told me that, once upon a time. Perhaps you've heard of him? Nobody asks for their life to change, not really. But it _will_. The big moments will come, can't help that. It's what you do when they come that matters, that's when you find out what your worth is in this world, when you find out who you are... and who you're going to be."

Professor Drogin held Albus's gaze for several moments following his speech, then the intensity left his eyes and he turned away, pointing his wand towards the chalkboard. Lines of chalk in a thick, curving script dashed across the board.

_Introduction to the Dark Arts  
__  
Chapter I – Basic Defensive Wand Movements  
and Shield Charms_

"This lesson we will focus on the theoretical aspects of wand-movement. Why specific movements can trigger defensive shields strong enough to repel anything save an Unforgivable Curse, and why certain elements – _fire_ – can be blocked but not the heat transference produced by such an attack."

Albus – and the rest of the class – were scribbling notes as fast as they appeared on the chalkboard, taking down everything. This was exciting stuff, and Drogin had the full attention of everyone in the room.

"For the last hour we will put theory into practice, and you will be learning the incantations for basic shield charms, which you will practice every evening this week. The Protego Charm will be your main defensive shield - however it is highly basic and predictable."

The lesson _flew_ by, for Albus at least, and he tried hard to commit everything he could to memory. So far DADA was turning out to be the most intensive lesson in terms of the sheer amount of information that Professor Drogin was loading on them, but it was also the most interesting.

During the practical shield work at the end, Albus was the only first-year who managed to produce anything even closely resembling a workable shield charm. As he had nearly done on the train yesterday, he tried again the Protego shield, and actual managed to create a cone of blue light that solidified in the air for a moment before dissipating.

Professor Drogin was watching each attempt and he raised a single eyebrow at Albus's shield. "Try it again, Mr Potter," he said. "Twenty house points if you can block a small stinging hex."

Albus felt a fluttering of nerves as Drogin turned his wand upon him from across the room. The distance was enough that Albus would have plenty of time to cast his shield. He just didn't know if he could deflect a hostile spell yet. Everyone else stopped their own attempts to create a shield and turned to watch Albus and Professor Drogin.

"Wand at the ready, Mr. Potter, I will give you warning before I fire."

Albus gripped his holly wand and readied the movements in his mind. He could do this, he only needed to block it for a moment, direct it away. He saw himself bouncing the hex back at Drogin, knocking the experienced Auror's wand from his hand. Albus smiled, and so did his professor.

"And three, two, one... _Aculeus!_"

A bolt of yellow light shot through the air, over the empty desks, and towards Albus. It crackled with energy and hummed with strength.

Albus was already moving his hand and had begun the incantation as Drogin reached _one._ _"Protego!"_ he cried.

The tip of his wand flared with the brightest blue light he had ever seen it produce, a hundred times brighter than it had been on the train yesterday. A cone of deflective magic formed in the air before him and held steady for a moment. The rush of magic tingling down his arm, the same feeling he had gotten in Charms levitating the feather, was good and strong.

And then it abruptly vanished, taking his shield with it.

Albus winced and his wand clattered to the floor as Drogin's minor stinging hex hit his hand. It felt for a moment like a whip had been lashed across the back of his hand, but the sensation faded almost straight away. He knelt down to pick up his wand, disappointed.

"Not a bad effort, Mr Potter, yet you acted far too soon and were not able to keep the shield in place." Professor Drogin had put his wand away, yet Albus knew the man could draw it again faster than he could raise his, pointing as it was toward the floor. "It would have blocked my hex, had you timed it right. Anticipation is a precise skill."

"Why didn't his shield remain in place for longer?" Scorpius Malfoy asked quietly, drawing every eye in the room. "It flared and disappeared."

"It takes time, with any spell, to get every aspect of it right, Mr Malfoy," Drogin said. "Some spells require certain circumstances to perform well, some need to be fuelled by certain emotions – love, hate, kindness, anger – whilst others still need to be _practiced, practiced, practiced_!" Drogin paced forward, and waved his arm over a row of unlit candles on his desk. They flickered to life with small, blue flames. "A wand is just a tool, it helps us to focus what we are born with. Consider, for a moment, that your magical ability is a muscle. You students are just now beginning to exercise that muscle. One day you may be able to lift mountains with it, but for now you levitate feathers. Understand?"

Malfoy nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"There's a lot more to it than that, of course. I suggest again you peruse the wealth of knowledge available to you in the library. Magical theory books may seem tedious, but understanding just how magic operates can exercise the _muscle_ in different ways, making it well-rounded and strong."

Albus was hungry by the time dinner rolled around that evening. It had been a long first day, and he had done more magic with his wand, learnt more about magic from his professors, than he ever had in his life before.

Chomping his way through golden wedges of potato and tomato relish sauce, he yawned. "My magical muscle is knackered," he moaned.

Rose nodded, catching his yawn with one of her own. "Are you going to make a start on some of the homework tonight?"

Albus shrugged. It had been the plan earlier in the day, when he hadn't been so tired. Now it just seemed like far too much effort.

"Those four-poster beds are ridiculously comfy," he said pensively. He looked down and across the table at Frank and Gary. They both looked as if they were about to fall onto their plates, most of the first-years did.

"Got a good hex out of Drogin today, didn't we," Gary said, catching Albus's eye. "Stinging hex. Thanks for that, Al. Aculeus."

Albus chuckled. He knew a few hexes that did a lot worse than a little slap on the wrist. There was the Bat-Bogey hex his mother didn't know he knew about, for one. But he was too tired just then to get into a discussion with Gary about cool hexes.

And so half an hour after dinner found Albus in his pyjamas and brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed.

He slipped under the heavy, warm covers and pulled the curtains closed. Tomorrow, he thought decisively, he would definitely find time to send a letter off with Merlin to his mum and dad.

Satisfied with his first day and stuffed with food, Albus had pretty much forgotten about the headache he had suffered in Transfiguration. Memories of that bothered him not at all as he drifted off to sleep. He was already looking forward to whatever tomorrow brought – new magic, new chances to learn. Defence Against the Dark Arts was his favourite subject by far, and he was the only one who had done a shield charm, even if it had only lasted a second.

Smiling to himself, Albus rolled over and his head disappeared into the depths of the feather pillow.

He dreamt that night, and they were strange dreams. He was alone in the Transfiguration room, and the floor was shrouded in a glowing mist right up and over his knees so that each desk looked like a small island at sea. Professor McGonagall was lecturing before her desk, her mouth moved silently, and her eyes were thin slits of crimson light. Albus tried to levitate the mist out of the room but he didn't have his wand. Professor Drogin appeared and berated him for not being prepared, for letting his wand out of his sight. Drogin had the same crimson eyes as McGonagall.

And then finally, Scorpius Malfoy appeared standing on one of the desks, his dark silk robes almost reflecting the silvery light of the mist. The emerald-green in his Slytherin emblem shone particularly brightly. "All right, scarhead?" he smirked. And the blood in his eyes was burning fiercely.

Strange dreams, the same dream, faded in and out of Albus's mind all night. The dreams didn't wake him, and he slept quite peacefully enclosed in his four-poster bed.

He woke the next morning completely refreshed from the night's sleep, and did not remember a thing.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thank you for reading. Please take the time to review if you like the story so far, hate the story, have any criticism and such. Cheers. Next chapter is already in the works and should be up soon, within the week. On average that seems to be how long its taking, but if the writing bug grips me a new chapter could pop up any time._

_Thanks again,_

_joe_


	5. Chapter 3: Harry Potter and the PoA

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form._

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to the people who are reading, and to those who have reviewed. It would be great to hear what more of you think of this story._

* * *

_**Chapter 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban**_

_They are all dead, save one. And one  
broken human cannot stop the darkness  
which is to come._

_-- Knights of the Old Republic_

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_This is the first chance I've had to write home. Being at Hogwarts is so busy! You may have heard from James or Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione that I'm a Gryffindor! Rose, too! The Sorting Hat took forever to sort me. _

_All of my roommates are pretty cool and some of their parents went to Hogwarts with you guys. I've met Gary Thomas's dad a few times with you, dad, at Quidditch games, and there's a boy here called Colin Creevey who says his dad knows you, too._

_I'm doing well in all of my classes, especially Charms and DADA. Professor Drogin set a quiz the other day and I didn't get a single question wrong. Some of the stuff I didn't even know I knew! I earned Gryffindor fifteen house points, the first points Professor Drogin's ever given. I also earned ten house points in Charms the other day when I accidentally levitated one of the big heavy desks as well as a feather. An inkpot fell all over Hannah Longbottom and she's still trying to wash it out of her hair._

_Quidditch tryouts are in a few days and James is driving me and everyone crazy about it. He's trying out for Seeker, and I thought I'd try out too even though first-years can only play in reserve._

_I've got Transfiguration straight after breakfast and I can change a match into a needle with no trouble at all. Rose can too, almost, and Frank and Gary keep asking me to help them because they can't get it. I don't really understand how it works just yet, but I still get a needle nine times out of ten._

_Rose and I are going to tea at Hagrid's tonight and I'm bringing Frank and Gary and she's bringing Hannah. I've warned them all about the rock cakes! Speaking of food, I'm sending this off with Merlin early because I don't want to miss any of the pancakes and muffins for breakfast._

_Love you lots,_

_Al_

Digging into his own breakfast of bacon and eggs, Harry read and re-read Albus's letter before passing it down the kitchen table to Ginny. She read it aloud to little Lily, who was busy feeding Merlin a strip of bacon.

"Sounds like he's settling in," Ginny said. "He's a lot like you were back then, all independent and such. James wrote home the morning after his sorting, not a week later." Ginny scanned the letter again. "And he's already making an impression with his professors."

Harry grinned. "Just like James, although he's picking up the magic a lot faster. Levitated a whole desk on his first go! It took Ron and me two months to manage anything bigger than a feather."

"The troll on Halloween?"

"Hard to believe that was twenty-five years ago now."

The clock on the wall chimed nine o'clock and Harry looked up at it with a sigh. He was running late and would have to apparate into the Atrium in the Ministry. He didn't like doing that. Even after nineteen years people still stared at him – at the scar. He stood up to leave, quickly shovelling his eggs onto a piece of toast and folding it in half.

"I'm taking Lily over to mum's today," Ginny said. "I've got work this afternoon – Cannons are playing the Harpies."

Harry snorted. "You could write that one up right now."

"Ron said he'd be coming along if he could get off work."

Harry shook his head. "Not likely – the head of department won't allow it. Too many new recruits need bringing up to scratch."

"Aw, honey, let him come and watch a match. It's been months since he could get away."

Harry sighed and leant over the table to give his wife a peck on the cheek, Lily too. "Send Albus and James my love, will you?" His unruly hair was sticking up at all odd angles this morning, a lot more than usual.

Ginny's eyes sparkled. Harry's hair always made her so happy. "Will do," she said.

Harry had to walk to the end of the driveway to apparate away. He had made his home unplottable, had installed every ward under the sun from anti-apparation to Dark magic and Dementor detectors. Outside of Hogwarts and Azkaban, and possibly the Ministry itself, his home was the most secure and fortified building in wizarding Britain.

It was a cool morning and the dew lay heavy on the lawn and on the petals of the rosebushes that ran up the drive. Lily's toy broom had been left floating on the front steps and Harry tripped over it and nearly fell over, stumbling onto the gravel stones. He tossed the broom aside with a curse and set off at a quick jog for the edge of the property.

The house was made of old wood and stone and creeping vines clung to the outside walls, almost coating them entirely. In spring small red flowers and grapes blossomed on those vines, with the aid of a little magic, and the house practically glowed. The roof was vaulted and arched, with no sure footing – another precaution, another defence. No one on a broom could land comfortably up there. Surrounding the perimeter ran a high stone wall that was both as old as the house and the keystone to many of the wards.

Harry stepped down over the edge of his land and out onto the country road that ran through to the motorway and eventually into Devon. He had stepped clear of most of the major wards and behind him the house wavered, almost disappeared, and he had to fight the magic to keep it in his sight. The wards knew him, however, and the perception filter over the property failed to confound him.

Off to his left were the beginnings of an old wood that grew almost all the way to Ottery St Catchpole and just beyond that to the Burrow. About twenty miles away, as the crow flies, and near to where Amos Diggory still lived with his wife. It had been some time since Harry had seen the Diggorys... He would have to change that soon.

The River Otter flowed through the wood and ran alongside the property, as well, and every time Harry saw the clear waters it brought up the memories of the warm summer nights spent with Ginny on its banks, alone with the stars and before any of the kids had been born, back when he had just been a rookie Auror.

_Although with more experience than most Senior's_, he thought, preparing to apparate into the Ministry.

He disappeared from the southwest of the country and reappeared miles away in the heart of London – _beneath_ London – right next to the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The Ministry was packed this time of morning, what with peak hour and everyone starting work for the day. Harry thought he might be able to blend into the crowds.

He cut a beeline for the golden-grilled elevators before any civilians recognised him. He got maybe halfway across the Atrium, ducking and diving through the crowds, before somebody pointed him out and the stares and whispers followed him all the way to the lifts.

Thankfully Harry and all the other department head's had a special priority elevator all to themselves. So as he was running late, the compartment Harry stepped into was empty save for one person.

"Morning, Commander," the attendant said. He was an old man dressed in velvet robes with a small, pointed hat embroidered with a golden 'M' covering his thinning grey hair. Ever since a bunch of teenagers had broken into the Department of Mysteries some twenty or so years ago now, the lifts were always attended. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement today, or another top-secret meeting with the Minister first-up?"

Harry laughed. "Good morning, Greg. I wish things were exciting enough for top-secret meetings. Level two, please."

"Ah, you can't fool me, Commander. I used to be in the Auror-reserves, you know."

Harry knew – Greg mentioned it every time Harry was forced to take the elevator, Merlin bless him. "Well keep the wand polished, Greg, because first sign of trouble and you're back on the active duty roster."

"Yes, sir," Greg said. "Someone's got to show you young fellas which end of the wand to point at the enemy."

"It's the pointy end, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"Very funny, Commander. Here we are: Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The golden-grille slid open on its own and Harry stepped out of the lift compartment and into the Auror Headquarters. A series of open cubicles stretched from one wall to the other, and most of the cubicles were covered with pictures of known Dark wizards, clips from the _Prophet_, maps and a dozen other bits and pieces. "Thanks, Greg, I'll see you later."

"And you, sir."

No sooner had Harry stepped out of the lift than a dozen inter-departmental memos rushed at him and flew in dizzying circles up and around his head. Harry swore and brushed them away – it was far too early to read about whatever misdemeanours some unlucky sod had been charged with last night, or how many of the other Department Head's were requesting the Aurors for whatever reason.

Harry walked swiftly across the floor, nodding to the men and women that worked beneath him, and stepped into his office away from the open cubicles, the small paper memos following in his wake. There was a cup of coffee steaming on his desk and Harry muttered a thanks to whoever had been so thoughtful.

It was second nature for Harry to run a quick sweep for Dark magic and poison over the coffee mug. He didn't expect anything and the cup was clean. He sat down in his chair and leaned back at his desk, sipping hot coffee and making plans for the day. His office was packed with filing cabinets along the side walls – all of them bursting at full capacity, and on top of those cabinets were stacks and stacks of further files piled haphazardly, just waiting for one to fall so they could all come tumbling down.

His desk was a mess with the latest mission reports from the active field Aurors, and on the wall behind him were a few dozen commendations and awards of merit for his work in the field. Off to the side a bit, its golden finish dull and dusty, was an Order of Merlin, First Class. Kingsley had arranged that little award for doing away with Voldemort.

Harry yawned and began to move the reports about on his desk. There were none marked with a priority and flashing red, which was good – Priority Red meant someone had screwed up big time, and there was an Auror dead. There had only been one Priority Red during Harry's time as Head of the Department, and that had been when he and the Aurors had finally caught up with Walden Macnair three years ago. The ex-Death Eater had been on the run for years, and hadn't come quietly when the team had been given a good tip-off to his location. Harry had personally put the man down for good.

All the reports were marked Green One, which meant mission accomplished, suspect in custody, no Aurors or civilians injured. Under Harry, most cases were resolved Green One. Yellow reports meant mission accomplished, but someone had been injured – an Auror or civilian – and reports marked Black meant the suspect had escaped, but there had been no loss of life.

A desk full of Green One reports meant nothing immediately required Harry's attention, so with a flick of his wand at the flying memos he directed them into his '_In'_ tray and finished his coffee.

There was a knock at the door and Ron Weasley let himself in, nursing a mug of his own. "Mornin', Harry," he said. "Got you the good stuff before it was all gone."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said. "How's it going? How's Hermione?"

"Good and good." Ron stepped across the room and sat down in the leather chair opposite Harry, knocking a few old reports off the chair and onto the floor. "We got a letter from Rose this morning - she's settling in just fine and making friends. Told me little Al's a Gryffindor."

"Yeah, Al wrote home, too. He loves it – going to try out for the Seeker position on the house team."

"Just like his dad, aye."

Harry nodded, feeling that same warm rush of pride in his chest. "James just might make it – he's a whiz on the _Windburn_, and Al's light enough to be quicker than the rest. It'd be great to see them play back on that old pitch."

Ron laughed. "It's not our generation anymore, is it? We're old, and there's a whole new generation ready to save the world."

"From the looks of things they won't have to," Harry said, tapping the stack of Green One reports on his desk. "All quiet, not a blip of real Dark magic in months, and Cooper and Singh finally broke up that house-elf smuggling racket."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Really? I hadn't heard."

"Cooper fire-called last night with the good news, although apparently Singh did a lot of the work. Cooper wants to sponsor him for the senior apprenticeship."

"How'd they do it?"

Harry grinned. "Singh arranged a meet with the seller and spent fifty-two thousand galleons of the Department's end-of-year budget buying every elf's collar. He then threatened his new elves with clothes unless they led him and Cooper back to the smugglers. Think Hermione put him up to it?"

"Merlin's beard!" Ron chuckled into his coffee. "That kid's got style."

"He'll be one to look out for," Harry agreed, signing off on a few of the memos before any more arrived and the stack became unmanageable. "How are your recruits doing?"

"That's what I came to see you about, actually," Ron said, sucking in a deep breath.

Harry smirked. "And you thought you'd butter me up with a good cup of coffee beforehand, hmm? I can't be bought for anything less than a glazed donut, Weasley, and there wasn't even any cream in the coffee."

Ron scowled. "One of the recruits got a little... _eager_ this morning."

"What happened?"

"We were out at Dover for the sea-cliff exercises, search and rescue, reconnaissance and infiltration one-oh-one."

"Yes..."

"Standard active force one and two," Ron sighed. "Team A and Team B simulating a dark wizard infiltration. Recruit Crichton put Auror Wilkes in St. Mungo's."

Harry frowned. "Wilkes?" Wilkes was very nearly a Senior. And the recruits were practically fresh out of Hogwarts. "How did it happen?"

"Crichton was concealing a second wand in his boot – smart, Wilkes should have checked – and stunned him."

"And a stunner put Wilkes in the hospital... why?"

Ron ran a hand back through his hair. "Crichton stunned him right _over_ the edge of the white cliffs. Quick bit of wand-work cushioned his fall – that was Crichton again – but he still hit hard enough to break both legs, an arm, and most of his ribs."

Harry winced. "So this recruit, Crichton, was he playing the Auror or the dark wizard?"

"Auror."

"So he pulls out a concealed wand and stuns Wilkes over the cliff and then, on the spot, manages to catch him with a cushioning charm?"

"Pretty much," Ron said.

"Did you mark him down for it?"

"He lost points for not minding his surroundings, but 'lethal' use was authorised for the exercise." Ron shrugged. "Bit excessive, but given the circumstances it could have been a lot worse, I suppose. He didn't break any of the rules."

Harry agreed. "Yet one of our best is still crippled for a week, at leat. Keep an eye on, Crichton," he said. "Make sure he's not to spell-happy. Sounds like an honest mistake though."

"No room for mistakes, Commander," Ron said in a deep, rough voice. "Isn't that your unofficial motto these days?"

Harry laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"The recruits think you're a bit of a hardass, Harry. Especially after that speech you gave at the start of the program – '_one slip up and you're out'_, were your exact words, if I recall."

Harry shook his head and pulled another memo from the pile in front of him, inking his quill. He scanned it briefly – an invoice for a shipment of wand holsters – and signed the request through, shoving it into his '_Out_' tray, where it promptly folded itself back into the air and zoomed off out of the hole above his door made especially for the little annoying things. Things were a little dull, he thought, being in charge of the department and not out in the field.

Oh sure, he got out on occasion – usually in a case that had the potential to become Priority Red pretty fast once the situation had escalated out of control, but as he'd told Ron, there had been nothing even approaching that in months.

He had been thinking of taking some time off, a bit of annual leave. Maybe polish the old broom and go for a bit of flying, get a snitch and everything and make a real go of it. Then there was time with Ginny – they could leave Lily with her grandparents and go away somewhere warm and tropical. The more he thought about it like that the more appealing it seemed, and Harry knew he was due a tonne of annual leave, having only taken time off for his wedding and honeymoon some fifteen years ago now.

He'd have a talk to Ginny about it once he got home – she'd probably jump at the idea. They never got much alone time so long as there was at least _one_ child at home. Harry realised he was thinking of 'alone time' with Ron's baby sister whilst he was still in the room. He felt a small blush creep into his cheeks.

Ron, being a highly trained Auror, spotted it. "What you thinking about?" he asked.

"Nothing." Harry cleared his throat and shuffled some reports around his desk. "Just about taking some time off since there's about as much excitement around here as there was back in History of Magic with Professor Binns."

_Brriiinnnggg!_

No sooner had he spoken the words than a _shrill_ and high-pitched alarm began to sound throughout the room, and the fireplace between the cabinets on Harry's left flared to life with urgent green flames.

"Just when you've got a grip on things, Harry," Ron said, rising and checking his wand. "Fate comes along and jumps on your fingers."

Harry was up and already approaching the fireplace, his face grim and determined. He hadn't _wanted_ anything to happen, not really, but this alert meant there was a potential Priority Red situation – an emergency already well underway. Spinning in the flames, a wizened face appeared and sharp eyes swept across the room, searching for Harry.

"Williamson," Harry said, recognising the Head Auror assigned to the security detail at Azkaban.

"Commander Potter, situation delta – one of the high-security prisoners disarmed Auror Michelle Connelly. She's being held hostage in the cell now, wand at her throat."

Harry grimaced. High security meant long-term to life sentences, it meant the old crowd, and it meant it could have been one of the many Dark wizards or witches Harry had put away over the last sixteen years.

"How did this happen?" Ron asked, almost spat. "High-security convicts are to be secured at all times!"

"She was secured," Williamson said in return, glaring at Ron. "We don't know how she slipped her restraints or how she overpowered Connolly, Weasley!"

"She?" Harry said quietly.

Williamson's head nodded, the emerald flames dancing within his eyes in the fireplace. "Prisoner DE145 – Dolores Jane Umbridge."

Harry whispered a low curse but Ron, who had always been able to swear like a champion, found a few choice words that explained Harry's own feelings better than he ever could.

"And Commander," Williamson continued, "Umbridge is saying she'll only talk to you, that if anyone else enters the cell she'll kill Michelle faster than we could take her down. I believe her."

Harry sighed. And today had been shaping up to be so quiet, as well.

* * *

After Harry defeated Voldemort and ended the Dark War, the Dementors, who had betrayed the Ministry and sided with Voldemort, had returned to Azkaban as if all would be forgiven. The newly-formed Ministry under Kingsley Shacklebolt had not been so forgiving, and the Dementors had been removed from the prison and a full contingent of forty-two Aurors had been assigned to guard the maximum security wizarding prison.

The Dementors themselves were still kept on the island, as there was no real safe place for them anywhere in the world. They were imprisoned in the caves beneath the island – which ran all the way down to the bed of the North Sea. The entrances to the caves were sealed and warded and checked daily for any breaches. No Dementor had escaped the confines beneath Azkaban for nineteen years.

_And Merlin willing_, Harry thought, as he looked out at the island from Williamson's office on the top floor of the dark and dank prison. _And Merlin willing, none of them ever will._

He stood with Ron and Williamson himself, as well as half a dozen of the Aurors that guarded the island prison.

"She's armed, insane, and holding one of our own hostage," Harry said slowly, carefully, keeping his anger in check. He had a personal score with Umbridge that he had considered long-since settled.

"Auror's Murphy and Heart on the scene say Connolly was forced into the prisoner restraints and is secured against the far wall. Umbridge is behind her and demanding to see you, Commander." Williamson's tone was brisk and to the point. The man was calm in a potential crisis - that was good.

Harry's eyes flashed. "Well let's give her what she wants,' he said, and in a tone that suggested she was going to regret it. "Take me to her."

Williamson nodded and led the way, with Harry and Ron falling in behind and the entourage of Auror-guards bringing up the rear.

Azkaban may have no longer been home to the Dementors, but their presence most definitely still seeped out of the walls, and along the dark corridors that, although lit with dozens of torches, seemed to hold no light at all. The fear and hopelessness was almost visible hanging in the air, heavy and oppressive, and a fierce cold swept through all of them as they approached the high security wing.

Harry always had problems staffing Azkaban with its full forty-two Auror contingent, twenty-four hours a day seven-days a week. No one wanted the assignment. Even when pay was double-time and a half for a regular ten hour day, only the hardest of the hard managed more than a month or two before requesting a transfer. The blasted Dementors had well and truly left their mark within the prison's haunted walls. A mark that had not dulled over the years, but _festered_.

Only a week ago Minister Shacklebolt had requested Harry take one of the wards and key it to his magical signature. He had obliged, and felt that ward now with his senses still up and in place, glowing strong. It was the ward that confounded any one stepping on the ground outside of the prison on the island itself. There were only a handful of pathways that were safe to walk on upon Azkaban, and those were known only to a handful of Aurors.

All of the wards remained in place, according to Williamson, so how had Umbridge escaped her restraints and overpowered a fully-trained Auror? Harry intended to ask her – politely.

"It doesn't make any sense," Ron was saying. He was flipping through a manila folder that had Umbrdige's mugshot stapled to the cover. Her criminal record and prison history. "Not a peep from her in nineteen years – she's eligible for parole next year – and now this."

"She never was right in the head, Ron," Harry said.

"Something about this doesn't feel right."

"You don't need to be an Auror to know that." Harry agreed. "You'll remain in the corridor when I enter her cell. Is that clear?"

"Like hell—" Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

"That's an order, Auror Weasley. And it goes for the rest of you, too. I won't have Umbridge snap and damage Michelle Connolly in any way. This won't become Priority Red. Am I clear?" The last was mainly directed at Ron.

There was half a dozen short and sure 'Yes, sirs,' and Ron sighed.

"Ginny will kill me for letting you go in alone with that madwoman."

Harry laughed. It sounded out of place in the hollow, freezing corridors. "If you promise not to tell her you can have leave for the Quidditch this afternoon."

Ron's eyes brightened. "Deal!"

The high-security wing was perhaps the single dreariest place on planet. Back when the Dementors had patrolled these corridors, this part of the prison had been under constant supervision. Where prisoners in other parts of the prison would sometimes scream into the night for years following their incarceration, as the occasional Dementor would _glide_ passed their cell maybe once every other day, here the prisoners had only screamed for days before the constant attention of the Dementors destroyed their will and their minds.

Sirius Black had been incarcerated in this part of the prison.

The inmates of today's world lived in relative luxury compared to what the guilty – and the innocent – of the past had suffered through.

Harry always felt a kind of helpless despair when he thought of his godfather spending twelve godforsaken years in what had been an inhumane hell on earth.

Williamson alone had access during the lockdown that had been enforced during the hostage situation. The Head of Azkaban Security waved his wand and muttered whatever that week's passwords were over the titanium-enforced thick doors. They were doors that barred all entrance and exit from the corridor that held the worst offenders from the Second Dark War.

A lot of ex-Death Eaters were imprisoned in the following row of stone cells. A lot of the men and women Harry had considered his responsibility to bring in over the years would spend the rest of their lives here.

They all heard Umbridge before they saw her.

Her voice had always been high-pitched and a little childish. Nineteen years in Azkaban had robbed her of that, and now her voice croaked and cracked against the echoing stones almost painfully. She sounded like the toad Harry had always likened her appearance to, all those years ago.

"_POTTER..."_ The word seemed to groan through the stones. "_EEHHHHHHHH, HARRY POTTER..."_

"Christ almighty," Williamson said, approaching the Aurors that stood guard outside of cell number 145. "How long has she been howling like that?"

"About ten minutes, sir," an Auror Harry recognised as Sarah Heart - just five years into the job, still young - said.

"_AYAYAYAYYYYY... HARRY POTTER. SHE DIES! SHE DIES, POTTER..."_

"She was speaking normally before then – even reasonably – Commander." Williamson turned to Harry. "She said she'd hand over the wand after talking to you."

"_POTTER... DARKNESS, DARKNESS IN THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH..."_

"Well it would seem," Ron said, "that a somewhat major screw has popped loose since then."

"I'd have to agree with that assessment, Auror Weasley." Harry ran a hand back through his unruly hair and checked his wand holster on his right arm. With a flick of his wrist he could have his wand in his hand in a heartbeat. It was also usefully concealed by the sleeve of his robes. "Give me five minutes," he said, nodding at the cell door. "After that move in and stun anything moving – including me. Understood?"

"Gotcha, Harry," Ron nodded. His tone was solemn now, serious. "Take care, mate."

Harry slapped Ron on the back with a grin and approached the cell door. There was no viewing window in the high-security wing. Prisoners were not given an inch in which to see the world beyond their cell. Only once a day did the door open – for routine security checks and meal trays to be exchanged – and during that the restraining cuffs shackled to their wrists and ankles tightened so that they were facing the far wall and unable to move.

"_AAAAYYYYYYYYY, POTTER, POTTER, POTTER—"_

"Open it, Auror Heart," Harry said, putting his game face on. "And no one better be standing behind me." There was no mercy in his eyes as the cell door swung open outwards on well-oiled hinges, barely making a sound.

"—_POTTER, POTTER... AYYYIIIEEE—"_

Umbridge's cries abruptly ceased as the light from her cell fell on Harry standing in the corridor, and Harry saw his one-time 'professor' for the first time in nineteen years. What he saw didn't impress him.

Dolores Umbridge had always been a rather squat woman with a broad, flabby face and a slack mouth – resembling a large, pale toad. Now she was that and then some.

Her eyes were wide and bloodshot – the whites stained a sickly yellow – and her hair hung in sweaty curls flat against the drawn skull of her face. She was drooling, and a frothy mess of spit and what looked like blood coated her chin.

Expecting a killing curse or something much worse to have come shooting out of the cell as soon as the door opened, Harry almost dived to the side. Yet Umbridge held her stolen wand against the throat of its owner. Auror Michelle Connelly was trapped with her back to the wall. Shackles around her small ankles and wrists restrained her completely. Her eyes filled with relief when they found Harry.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry said – and quite calmly, he thought.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "Step inside, inside, inside..." she hissed, her head twitching back and forth. 'Or he'll hear you..." She blinked first one eye and then the other, as if not daring to take both her eyes off Harry at the same time. It was so absurd he almost smiled, but didn't – it might provoke the woman.

"Sure thing," he said.

"_The door! Close the door, Potter._"

"You got it."

Harry looked back over his shoulder and waved his hand at Auror Heart. She hesitated, biting her lip, but Harry nodded. The door swung shut with a clang that felt somewhat final.

Azkaban's cells were fairly basic. There was a bed of stone that was actually part of the thick walls. A thin mattress and blanket spread across it. There was a simple toilet and a single globe of magical light hanging from the ceiling. No personal effects, nothing but three regulation meal trays littered the floor.

"Long time no see," Harry said after a moment.

Umbridge gnashed her teeth together and took a step forward, almost removing the wand from Connelly's neck. Harry would have flicked his wand into his wrist in an instant and stunned the women if she had.

"You... Harry Potter... I hate you."

"That's because I won, Dolores," Harry said, a terrible confidence in his voice. Here he was not Harry Potter the father, the husband, or the friend – here he was Harry Potter the Auror, the Boy Who Lived, and the defeater of Dark Lords. "I won and you've spent nineteen years in prison."

Umbridge laughed – she cackled – and her watery eyes danced in their sockets. She pushed the wand deep into Connolly's neck, forcing a choked gasp from the petite woman. "It's not too late, Potter, but one day it will be."

"Too late for what?" Harry asked. That had been the most coherent thing she had said so far, for all the sense it made.

"_The light of heaven, the light of heaven and the darkness in the depths of the earth... Twilight, Mr Potter, twilight and mist!"_

"Okey dokey then," Harry replied. "How about you tell me how you managed to get loose?"

"I must not tell lies."

Harry's hand flinched. "You got that right," he said, and his tone was cold enough for frost. "So tell me how you've managed this?"

"_He Who Must Not Be Named_," she tittered, and for a moment her eyes focused on Harry and they were frighteningly sane.

"Voldemort is dead, Umbridge. Dead and buried."

"_You know who, Harry_," she whispered. "You... know... who...he...is..."

This hostage negotiation was going nowhere fast. And any minute now Ron was going to come in wand blazing. Harry had to end this, and soon.

"So Voldemort came back to life, dug his way up out of six feet of hard earth, flew all the way here and busted you out of your chains so you could tell me he was back?" Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Few problems I can see with that, Dolores, from my side at least..."

"_A warning, Potter-boy, a lightning bolt, a key to the Lord Myst. He Who Must Not Be Named walks in the shadows, and no one is safe... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord..."_

Harry's wrist twitched and he slowly began to slide his wand into his hand, keeping his palm concealed in the folds of his robe. "Are you going to let my Auror go, Umbridge?"

And to that Harry received no answer – no answer he understood. Umbridge's eyes rolled up into the back of her head until only the bloodshot whites were showing, the back of her eyes. Her mouth stretched into a grin so wide he thought her face would split, and her nostrils flared wide enough to double in size.

"_Potter... you have been warned, the pieces are moving. This gift I give to you."_ Umbridge stopped speaking then and faster than Harry would have given her credit for she moved her wand arm away from Connelly and shoved the tip beneath her own chin. "_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Emerald green light cast a cool pall over the cell, and Dolores Jane Umbridge was dead before she crumpled to the floor.

It was at that moment that Ron burst into the cell, his wand at the ready. He took in the scene in an instant, saw that Umbridge was down, and together he and Harry worked free the restraints pinning Michelle Connolly to the wall.

"What the hell happened, Harry?" he asked.

Connolly was shaking but she could walk, yet both Harry and Ron held one of her arms between them, keeping her steady. The shackles had worn away the skin around her ankles and wrists, and they were red-raw and bleeding.

Harry shook his head. "She didn't say a lot that made sense. Anything, actually – it was nonsense. And then she topped herself with the bloody killing curse."

"Did she say how she managed to break free?"

"Oh yeah, she said Voldemort did it."

"That old rascal," Ron said dryly.

Harry clicked his teeth together, his mind running at about a million miles an hour. "Either one of the Aurors released her, or someone breached Azkaban itself, in which case they might still be here. Getting on to the island is far easier than getting off."

Ron thought about that as they left the cell, leaving it for Murphy and Heart to secure the scene. Williamson began to lead them back to his office, to the floo connection there. Connolly would need to be checked out in St Mungo's in case she'd been cursed or jinxed whilst captive.

Back in Williamson's office at the top of the prison, Harry ordered a full scale search of the prison and the island and then accompanied Auror Connolly to the hospital. He called in on Wilkes, too, while he was there – the Auror Ron's recruit had knocked off a cliff – and then headed back to the office.

There was a tonne of paperwork to do for the morning's events, and a full investigation to mount. Harry wouldn't let it go until he discovered just who had freed one of the high-security prisoners, a prisoner of personal interest to him.

One thing he knew for certain – it definitely hadn't been bloody Voldemort.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thanks for reading the latest installment of the story. If you could spare a moment to review, that would be great. I plan to have this story switch perspective between Harry and his youngest son, Albus, from time to time - not often, and most of the tale will be told from Albus's perspective, but Harry has always been the star, and I can't just cut him out._

_Next chapter we're back at Hogwarts with Al - and strange things are happening there, let me tell you..._

_--joe6991_


	6. Chapter 4: A Broken Path

_**Disclaimer:**__ I promise I do not own Harry Potter. You can search me if you like, you won't find it anywhere..._

_**A/N:**__ Thank you for reading and a special thank you to my reviewers. I-Am-Silence, HawkEye DownUnder, SilverWolfPrints, and Arallion. Hope you enjoy this chapter, it was definitely fun to write - like the last one._

* * *

_**Chapter 4: A Broken Path**_

_Running over the same old ground.  
What have you found? The same old fears.  
Wish you were here._

_--Pink Floyd_

After mailing his first owl home with Merlin, Albus arrived early enough for breakfast to get a whole stack of pancakes dripping with syrup, and enough muffins coated in fresh butter and jam with cold squeezed orange juice that he was stuffed to the brim for the first two lessons of the day.

At lunch time his appetite returned at the sight of the roast chicken sandwiches and warm carrot cake, and this meal saw him through until dinner at seven. Before dinner, however, Albus took Frank and Gary, and Rose brought Hannah, down to Hagrid's for tea and cakes.

According to his dad, Hagrid's hut hadn't changed much over the years, and nor had the half-giant of a man or his dog, Fang. Fang was an old dog by any one's measure, but whether through unknown magical means or just good old fashioned fresh air, Fang could still be seen on cool spring days trotting after Hagrid loyally as he went about the grounds, keeping the weeds out of the cemetery around Dumbledore's tomb, or heading into the dark forest for whatever reason...

Tea at Hagrid's was nice, and everyone soon felt comfortable talking to Hagrid about their first week at school, and he in turn talked to them about Care of Magical Creatures which they could take in third-year.

"Yer dad was always firs' to volunteer, Al," Hagrid beamed. "Whether it were a hippogriff or a blast-ended skrewt, not afraid a nothing is yer dad. A great man, great man."

Contrary to his dad's advice, Albus tried one of the rock cakes and nearly broke a tooth. He shoved the cake into a deep pocket of his robes when Hagrid refreshed everyone's cup, daring any of his friends with his eyes to laugh.

At ten to seven the whole group walked up to the school together, looking forward to some real food in the Great Hall. Albus bade Hagrid goodbye at the Gryffindor table and the groundskeeper went and sat up with the other professors, soon digging into a plate of food with a fork almost longer than Albus's arm. Albus himself was hungry after a long day that had included several hours in a smoky, humid potions dungeon. Potions was fast becoming one of his more boring subjects – second place only to History of Magic with Professor Binns. Well, at least it was Friday and the weekend tomorrow.

After dinner Albus and his friends walked back up to the Gryffindor common room. It was nearing nine o'clock and the girls said their goodnights to Albus, Frank, and Gary almost as soon as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The three boys weren't far behind them, nor were Colin Creevey and Greg Cofler, their other two room mates. Albus stayed up in bed with his curtains drawn and his wand lit, reading over his DADA text for about half an hour before his eyes became just too heavy to keep open.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was by far his favourite lesson no matter what day of the week it was. And the top mark he had received only yesterday had singled him out in Professor Drogin's eyes, and earned him ten house points. Albus knew he didn't want to slip down at all in that class, so he studied the book hard.

Extinguishing his wand, Albus stuck a hand out of the curtains around his bed and placed it on his bedside table. He yawned as his head hit the pillow, long and satisfying.

In five minutes he was fast asleep, dreaming normal dreams at the end of a long day.

* * *

Waking up in the middle of the night almost frozen to the bone was not something that happened to Albus Potter often – or at all, really. Sealed within his four-poster bed, the heavy velvet curtains drawn on all sides, Albus awoke with a start and sucked in a harsh, ragged breath that turned his lungs to ice.

He coughed – a weak and wheezing thing – and his teeth chattered fast enough to make his whole body shake.

_What-_

There was something so surreal about waking up colder than he had even been in his entire life that for a moment Albus thought he was dreaming, but the feeling was far too real for that - far too real.

He rolled out of the bed and onto the floor, pulling his covers down with him – and fell in a bundle into a silvery-white mist that was about a foot deep, and covering the entire dormitory floor.

Albus gasped. The mist was _freezing_. He hadn't really been cold before, up in his bed, not compared to this. It was cold enough to drive all feeling from his hands. His fingers felt like useless fat sausages as he untangled himself from his blankets and gained his feet.

The small furnace-heater in the centre of the room, which was usually lit and maintained by the house elves, stood cold and dead - lifeless. A coating of frost cracked on the dark metal like early morning dew frozen to grass.

"F-Frank..." Albus whispered fiercely, his teeth chattering as he danced back and forth on the spot to try and keep his blood flowing strong and hot through his veins. All the other boys in the dormitory had their curtains drawn. "Gary!"

No one answered his calls.

_Merlin, it's bloody cold_, he thought. _I can't just stand here like an idiot and wait for my toes to fall off._

Albus walked around his bed, only just feeling his steps, and clicked open the freezing brass latches on his trunk. He was looking for the thick pairs of socks his mum had packed for the coming winter – which was convenient now, as winter had come a little early. It was still supposed to be summer for another week or two!

The torches on the wall were dim, as it was some lonely hour of the morning, but even that dim light was fading, being drawn away by the crippling cold mist. From the foot of his bed before his trunk Albus could now see where the mist had come from.

His window, the window nearest to his bed, had been opened wide. A steady stream of the argent mist flowed in over the sill from outside the tower, cascading down into the room in a silent waterfall of frozen air. Albus cursed whichever of his room mates had left the window open, because it certainly hadn't been him.

Forgetting his hunt for the thick woolly socks, Albus hopped across to the window, jumping from foot to foot and trying to place as little of his exposed skin as possible on the stone floor slabs. They were so cold it actually burnt. There was definitely something not right about this mist – and for more than one reason.

It was thicker than any fog he had ever walked through, for one, and about halfway to the open window it hardened around his legs until it felt like he was pulling through water. And it glowed – not brightly – yet the silvery substance, whatever it truly was, emitted some small light. And Albus did not consider it a very friendly light. He disliked it in the same way he disliked the dark. Because late at night who knew what the shadows under the bed were hiding, right?

His dad had taught him a long time ago that monsters were real. And Albus had figured it out on his own that sometimes the monsters could win. Or could cause enough damage that by the time they were beaten, victory was almost indistinguishable from defeat.

Albus realised he felt quite afraid.

But he was also his father's son, and whether he knew it or not, it was in his blood to defy that fear. It was in his blood.

Just before he reached the window the mist around the sill began to spiral and churn, to _bubble_, and a figure swirled up before the open night air inside the dormitory with a hiss. It was a transparent figure, roughly human in shape. There was not enough light to discern any physical features beyond its dull shape.

_It's a ghost_, Albus thought. _Just a ghost._

"Al, is that you?"

Albus turned his head to see that Frank had woken up as well. He had gotten out of bed and was standing shivering just next to his trunk across the room, knee-deep in the mist.

"Yeah."

"It's freezing, mate."

Albus nodded. "I know..."

"Who's that by the window?"

He turned back to the window— and let out a small, strangled cry when he saw that the ghost had grown eyes – crimson eyes that burnt like red-hot coals, and a wide smile of fierce orange light within a mouth of black fangs.

"What the hell is that—" Frank began, but was cut-off abruptly as the mist-creature shrieked loud enough to wake the dead.

The creature _lunged_, and Frank watched wide-eyed as Albus was snatched around the waist and hurled forward _out_ of the open window in the grasp of the mist –_ as he was thrown out of the open window several hundred feet above the ground!_

Frank barely had time to register this before the mist nearby on his left began to swirl and churn... and a few rapid heartbeats later another – or perhaps the same – mist-creature rose up with its red eyes drawn into thin slits. Frank gasped and the blood had a precious few seconds to drain from his face before he too was snatched and _thrown_ across the room, straight out of the open tower window.

With both boys taken – both _witnesses_ – the window slammed shut with a bang, rattling the glass in its frame almost loose, and the mist faded away to nothing just as Gary Thomas popped his head through his curtains with bleary, sleep-filled eyes, yawning and shivering with the cold. He had been awoken by the shrieks, but by the time he'd gotten up there was nothing to say that anything was out of place.

"Any of you guys awake?" he whispered into the silent dormitory.

It was a little chilly in here, and he could see why – the furnace had gone out. There was no reply from any of his room mates, and all of their curtains were drawn closed. He could hear Colin snoring in the next bed over, and Greg mumbled something incoherently from across the room. Gary yawned again and slipped his head back through the curtains.

It was warm when he was once again under his covers and Gary snuggled down into the thick mattress with a sigh, sleep returning to him as quickly as it had been taken...

* * *

There had been times in his life when Albus Severus Potter had wondered over his name – or more specifically over the two men he had been named for. His dad had told him the story once he had been old enough to understand. He had told him of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, and of the fateful events that had forced the latter to end the life of the former at his own request.

It was a sad story, just one of many his dad would sometimes share when mum was out of earshot. Technically his middle name had killed his first name.

And in a stroke of tragic irony, the man he had first been named for, Albus Dumbledore, had been hurled over the parapets of one of the tallest towers at Hogwarts by the curse that had ended his life and fallen all the way down to the distant ground below – just as Albus Severus Potter was doing now, twenty years later.

Only Albus wasn't _falling_, Albus was tumbling and _sliding_ down to the ground on a river of the same mist, and still in the grasp of the same creature, that had flooded his dormitory room.

The mist had entered Gryffindor Tower from one of the highest windows in the castle, but it had flowed up from the ground to do that. More accurately it had flowed up from within the Forbidden Forest. Albus could see this as he wrestled and squirmed in the thick mist, sliding faster and faster, dipping under and then back out of the glowing fog. He caught glimpses of the stars overhead, and a thin, crescent moon as sharp as a blade.

With his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes wide with fright, Albus fought against the creature holding him – not even mindful that if it let go he could fall to his death – and broke free of its grasp. The creature shrieked with rage and dipped under the flow of thick mist behind Albus.

Albus didn't fall to his death.

And as if a weight had been removed that was pressing against his very soul, he surged up above the tidal flow and slid the rest of the way down on its surface in the cool night air – the mist had become strong and solid beneath him.

_This is crazy_, he thought, as the Forbidden Forest drew nearer.

He could see now at the bottom of his ­_slide _the mist actually disappeared about a quarter mile into the trees, and he was heading straight for the canopy of dark wood at top speed – unable to stop, unable to roll off the river of fog for fear of breaking every bone in his body.

The night sky, with its millions of distant twinkling stars, disappeared as he hit the top of the forest hard and broke through the canopy, sliding down through leaves and twigs and branches that tore at his pyjamas and left a dozen minor cuts all over his body, mostly his arms that he used to shield his face. A thicker branch – thicker than he was round – swept by so close that the tips of Albus's unruly hair brushed it on the way past. If he'd been sliding another half-inch to the left it would have been lights out, probably for good.

Albus didn't see the forest floor before he hit it – and he hit it fairly hard. Hard enough to jar every bone in his body and send a fierce pain shooting up from his left ankle all the way up to his neck. He groaned and rolled over. The mist was carpeting the floor of the forest as it had done his dormitory, and he was very nearly submerged in the stuff. It was just as cold.

Shaking his head to clear it, and ignoring the aches and pains, Albus rose to one knee and popped his head and chest out of the fog and into the cool night air. He had a brief glimpse of silent trees shrouded in the faintly glowing mist before something hit him hard enough in the back to knock him flat again.

Albus's cries were muffled as his face was pressed into the dirt and _something_ squirmed on top of him. He heaved up with all his strength, spitting out a mouthful of muddy soil, and knocked the weight off his back, twisting over to see what it was.

"Frank...? Frank!"

Frank Jackson was coughing, shivering, and sitting on his rear in the sea of mist cradling his right arm close to his chest. He looked around wildly, caught sight of Albus a few feet away, and his mouth opened and closed a few times like a goldfish, no actual words escaping his lips.

Albus groaned and rose to one knee again. His striped-pyjamas were torn and dirtied in the fall, and the minor cuts that criss-crossed his body had started to sting. He attempted to get to his feet and help Frank up, but as soon as he put weight on his left ankle a crippling jolt of pain washed up his leg and he tumbled back down. The mist had cleared in a small circle around him, for some reason, so he could see the muddy ground beneath him as he tried again.

"Did that just happen, Al?" Frank finally found his voice.

Albus carefully, slowly, pulled himself to his feet. He put weight on his ankle, and the pain was there again – only he expected it – and his legs managed to keep him up, his ankle did not buckle. _Not broken then_, he thought,_ just sprained._

"Are you hurt, Frank?"

Frank gestured to his arm, which he held close against his chest. "It hurts to move."

Albus grasped his left hand and pulled his room mate steadily to his feet. He was in his pyjamas too, and they were just as bloodied and torn as Albus's. The mist was about waist height all around them, although a small gap in which the ground was visible swirled around the both of them.

"We're in the Forbidden Forest," Albus said.

"Five minutes ago I was fast asleep," Frank replied.

"Yeah, me too."

"What happened, Al?"

Albus shrugged, and was surprised when he began to chuckle. "Some..._thing_ pulled us out of Gryffindor Tower and into the forest. That's all I know so far."

Frank's teeth were chattering. The mist was clinging closer to his back than it was to Albus. "We should get out of here."

Albus wholeheartedly agreed. He was remembering a few of his dad's stories about the kind of things that lived in the forest. "Yep, but which way is it back to the cast-"

Albus was cut-off as a familiar _shriek_ tore through the eerie silence cast over the forest. Both he and Frank snapped their necks up as, down through the river of mist that had brought them here, slid the creatures that had pulled them both from the dormitory to begin with.

Frank screamed as the first mist-creature reached him and smothered him with its form, knocking him back down to the ground.

Albus took a few hurried steps back on his sore ankle, almost falling himself, as the second creature descended on him. He could see it a little better with all the mist there was glowing around him, and what he saw was not encouraging. It was about six-feet tall, shaped like a man, and made entirely of the argent fog, expect it was dull – there was no light coming from it – save from the fierce crimson eyes and laughing, fire-orange mouth.

The creature _floated_ toward him but then stopped within about three feet. Its eyes narrowed as Albus tripped and fell with his back against the tree that had nearly killed him on the way down. He bit his bottom lip – hard – and a steady trickle of blood ran down his chin, warm and coppery. The creature turned its head, reached out a wraith-like arm for his neck... and then shrieked in what Albus thought was frustration. It turned and _leapt_ through the sea of mist and dived down into the struggle between Frank and the other creature.

Both of them were attacking Frank!

Almost paralysed with fear, Albus shivered and bled against the tree that was supporting him. Why were they after Frank? "Leave him alone..." he shouted, only it wasn't a shout but a faint whisper that was stolen by the mist and soon forgotten. "Leave him..."

Frank was screaming, crying out. He reared up out of the mist, his eyes wide and fearful, only to be pulled back down by the shrieking demons hard.

_Only they're not shrieking,_ Albus thought, his blood running cold. _They're laughing._

Frank managed to rise to his knees again, but it was only for a second before he was dragged back under the surface of the pulsating fog. And this time he did not come back up.

Albus did not know what to do. He was bleeding, he was freezing, and his wand, for all the use it would be, was up on his bedside table. He could run, he thought, and get help, get someone. The mist seemed to be ignoring him. It had cleared out around the tree, exposing the thick roots Albus had tripped over. But what of Frank...?

Albus gritted his teeth. He couldn't leave him on his own. He hadn't even known the boy a week yet, but he was a Gryffindor, and brave to the point of stupidity. And it could only be called stupid if it got him caught alongside Frank, but Albus didn't care either way. He knew what his dad would do.

"_Get off my friend!_" he shouted, filling the night air with something other than the laughing shrieks of the mist-creatures.

Albus leapt to his feet and forced himself to limp on his abused ankle through the mist to where he had seen Frank fall, to where the shrieks were the loudest, and the mist cleared a path for him – flowing out of his way so fast in a wide circle around him, recoiling from his touch.

Albus didn't know how or why the mist cleared for him, but he wasn't about to argue, and it made finding Frank beneath the sea of fog a piece of cake. He was coated in the mist, in the dark mist, the stuff the creatures had been made out of, that did not emit any of the pale light.

It was choking him – a thin tendril, an arm – wrapped around his throat whilst the other creature held his legs and arms down, pinning him to the muddy earth.

"_I said GET OFF!_"

Albus grabbed the first part of Frank he could, his foot, and pulled with all his might. The creatures shrieked and two pairs of cold burning eyes swivelled to him in outrage. The mist, fog, whatever it was, had the consistency of water, or maybe a little thicker – honey – but pull as hard as he could Albus couldn't budge Frank an inch.

A silvery arm clawed at his face, leaving a trail of mist in its wake and Albus fell back with a cry. One of the creatures was upon him, its black fangs bared and head reared back like a snake's – about to strike!

Albus balled his hand into a fist as the creature shrieked pure rage and tried to tear out his throat – and made of mist or not, Albus did not doubt for a moment that those fangs could pierce his skin. Just before its mouth closed over his throat Albus brought his hand swinging around and punched the creature in the side of its rough head.

There was an explosion of golden sparks and the mist-creature shrieked again - in pain, this time.

Albus crawled out from under it as it rolled away, clutching what was left of its head, and wailing at the trees and no doubt cursing the boy who had injured it.

Rising to his feet, Albus looked down at his hand in wonder, still balled into a fist, and then back at the writhing creature stumbling towards the glowing mist that had departed the clearing as Albus had moved towards Frank. It never made it.

The mist-creature fell to its knees, shrieking and shrieking, until the rest of its head exploded in another fit of golden sparks and a crimson light flowed through its body. Unlike the previous light of its eyes, this crimson glow _sang_ to Albus as it ran like blood through the creature. _It was blood._ He trusted it, felt warmed by it. And cheered in his head as the mist-creature was absorbed into nothing, as it faded away, as it died and disintegrated like a piece of ash.

Albus again looked down at his fist. It was dirty with mud, and blood ran over the back of his hand and between his clenched fingers from one or two of the deeper cuts on his arm.

The blood on his fist was glowing, sparkling – just like the warm light that had _eaten_ the mist-creature from within. He could no longer feel the cold, either. He was warm, hot – his blood ran like an inferno through his veins.

He turned back to Frank just in time to see the second creature pulling him by the throat back towards the main body of mist. Albus swore and limped his way over, hoping that whatever was making his blood into a weapon would last long enough to rescue Frank.

He nearly didn't make it.

The mist-creature itself had already disappeared into the fog behind it when Albus drew level with Frank, his ankle _burning_ with pain. At the last moment Albus flicked his hand and drops of glowing blood flew through the air, some of them hitting the creature in its face.

It shrieked as if stung, letting go of Frank and rearing back into the stuff it was made of. Albus didn't pause – he was angry, now, more than scared – and these _things_ had woken him up far too early in the morning. He didn't think it would matter where he punched the creature, and it didn't. Albus delivered a blow as wide and inexperienced as any eleven year old boy, and it connected with the mist-creature's stomach.

Golden sparks as it collapsed in on itself, and blood alive with light tearing through its form, its final shriek died on the air, and echoed amongst the silent trees with a cold finality.

Albus was two for two.

He pulled Frank to his feet and gasped. Frank's face and lips were blue, dark blue, and his eyes were so bloodshot that not a speck of the whites showed. He was shaking all over and flinching uncontrollably. He looked... _drained_. He looked like death warmed up.

The silence that had fallen over the forest since the second mist-creature's final shriek was broken as brand new screams tore through the air – high and whining, and enraged with all the fury in the world. All around Albus and Frank the shrieks began anew, and the mist began to swirl and churn again.

Forms, roughly human in shape, looking like ghosts, were solidifying in the stew of bubbling fog. And not just one or two – but dozens.

"I think we need to _run_," Frank said. His voice sounded raw and unused.

"Yeah, but which way?" Albus was frantic – his blood still shone strongly between his clenched fists, turning his hands into small beacons – and if he could have seen it on his chin from his split lip – but there were more than dozens of blood-chilling shrieks renting the silence of the Forbidden Forest apart.

There were hundreds.

Frank pointed up at the flow of mist that had delivered them from Gryffindor Tower, the flow that swirled up and around the tree they had both fallen through. "It's flowing from that direction," he said, pointing through the trees behind the fall of fog. A little colour had returned to his cheeks, which was good. "Down from our dorm, Al. Hogwarts has to be that way."

Albus could see it now. Frank was right. That was the way. "Come on then."

The two boys ran.

Well, Albus tried, but the best he could manage was a strained jog on account of his ankle. His face was set though, grim, and he knew on the most basic of levels that to stop now, perhaps to try and hide, was death.

How far was it to the edge of the forest? They hadn't fallen in that deep from Gryffindor Tower, there hadn't been enough time. There was no sight of the castle between the trees, only more mist, and more and more creatures with laughing fiery smiles rising from it.

He found himself thinking of his dad, of Harry Potter, as Frank fell back to offer his good arm and keep them both steady, slowing his pace considerably.

Harry Potter had had adventures during his time at Hogwarts, and they were the stuff of legends. He was legend, himself, a shining beacon of hope in a world that at times, a lot of the time, could slip so fast and so sure into murky darkness as to become completely lost.

Had his dad been this scared?

No, not Harry Potter.

Albus sniffed, blinking back frightened tears. Being brave was all good and well, but how did his father live with the fear all of the time? And he'd faced a hell of a lot worse than this. He had had a madman, the most evil wizard to have ever lived, haunt his steps for seven years.

And Harry Potter had found himself equal to that. He had faced the Dark Lord face to face twice before his twelfth birthday, and had survived – had won – both times.

If his dad, his legendary dad, could do that – then Albus knew he could do this. He was cut from the same mould, after all. Still, to expect this much of himself before breakfast was straining things just a touch. That made him laugh.

"What's so funny?" Frank asked sharply, glancing at Albus as if he were insane.

"I'm bloody hungry," Albus replied, still chuckling.

Frank blinked. "Yeah, well, next McDonald's along this path we come to we'll stop and I'll get you a cheeseburger."

The first mist-creature took its chance. Fully-formed and eyes burning hot, it leapt at Albus and Frank with a furious shriek of raw strength.

Albus saw it coming, and acting purely on instinct, on his belief that his blood was somehow protecting him, he hurled his fist into the monster and a wash of golden sparks, sparks that stung just a little, covered him and Frank.

Another creature tried the same thing, on Frank's left, and Frank – having seen Albus's success, flung his own fist at the beast. His life's blood coated his good arm from a particularly nasty cut just above his wrist, and he pummelled the creature with every ounce of strength he could muster.

His bloodied hand past through the creature like water through a sieve.

No explosion of golden sparks.

No shriek of pain and despair.

The creature latched its arm around his neck and pulled him hard to the ground.

Albus had seen Frank's miss, however, and was there in a flash. His hand came down in a karate chop on the back of the creature's neck, severing its head from its body. The mist dissolved in the faint crimson glow of his blood, and Frank scrambled back to his feet.

"What are you doing?" he asked, panting heavily. "How are you hitting them?"

Stumbling on as the rest of the creatures who had witnessed Albus's display held back, following them both as close as they dared, but not attacking, not whilst his blood shone on his skin, Albus shrugged.

"Merlin knows how..." he managed. He was out of breath and every other thought was concentrated solely on the tremendous pain shooting up through his body from his twisted ankle.

Was the blood on his hands glowing a little less brightly now? Albus thought it was.

He and Frank stumbled on, through the trees and the knee-deep mist that wasn't quick enough to get out of their way. It recoiled soon enough as Albus limped through, drops of blood falling from his arms.

Two mist-creatures tried their luck at once, springing up directly in front of Albus and Frank between a pair of trees. The two wraiths shrieked, they lunged, and Frank lunged too – right behind Albus.

Albus braced himself and crossed his arms in front of his face. The mist-creatures hit him hard and knocked him back a step. He would have fallen on his bad ankle if not for Frank steadying himself against his back. A shower of golden sparks stung them both, and cut by on either side as the remains of the creatures writhed on the ground. They were dissolved by Albus's blood.

All at once the forest fell as silent as the grave – the shrieks of the monsters echoing away to nothing.

"Albus, look..." Frank whispered.

Albus looked up from the remains of the last two creatures to attack them and felt a lump rise in his throat that may very well have been his beating heart.

They were surrounded.

Mist-creatures hemmed them in on all sides. Hundreds of them, all with hate-filled burning eyes and fiery mouths silhouetted against black fangs that _dripped_ with the dull fog of their bodies.

Frank moaned low beneath his breath, and moved so he was still behind Albus as he turned a complete circle.

"It's six nil to me," Albus said, not knowing or caring if the creatures could understand him.

He raised his clenched fist to eye-level. The blood definitely was not glowing as fiercely as it had done only a few minutes ago. That was cause for concern.

"Come, Frank," Albus said, trying to inject a hint of urgency into his tone, "I daresay we've worn out our gracious welcome."

Despite it all Frank chuckled, and followed Albus along their path back to Hogwarts, his good arm resting on Al's shoulder. The creatures in their path floated away from Albus's raised fist, clearing the way, and Albus snapped his neck back and forth and over his shoulder, making sure nothing was trying to sneak up on him.

A slow jog, pursued silently by an army of mist-creatures on all sides, was as fast as Albus could go. He knew if the creatures rushed him and Frank all at once that there wasn't enough blood in his body to take them all – but either the creatures hadn't realised that or they weren't willing to sacrifice the ones Albus would get his hands on before they took him down.

If he hadn't been frightened through to his very soul, Albus would have felt pretty good about holding an army at bay with nothing but his fists.

The trees were thinning now, and Albus took that as a sign that they were nearing the border of the forest. Sure enough, he could glimpse the clear open grounds of the castle cast in faint starlight through the gaps in the trees. He mentioned it to Frank, who sobbed with relief.

The creatures began to shriek again as they realised that their pray might just end up escaping them. Albus could not care less at this point. Frank was shivering with the cold, and was still pale enough that his lips were blue, but Albus was going strong, fuelled by adrenalin and whatever it was in his blood these bloody things didn't like.

His ankle, however, was a lesson in pain he had never experienced before, and hopefully never would again.

It was upon them all at once, the edge of the forest and the clear-cut grass of the Hogwarts grounds. Albus and Frank broke through the border that separated the school from the Forbidden Forest and at the same time trudged through the last of the thick fog that clung to their bare feet, trying to draw them back in.

As if someone had flicked a switch, the world seemed to warm up a few degrees. They could see Hagrid's hut down the length of the forest about half a mile away, and the massive entrance doors to Hogwarts castle only a few hundred feet away across the grounds.

"We're out, Al," Frank said. And his voice was stronger now. He pushed Albus forward a few more steps away from the forest, afraid that the creatures would follow them beyond its borders.

Albus turned away from the castle, back to the forest. The mist swirled and chopped between the thick and heavy trees, and a thousand eyes of fiery-red light glared nothing but hate at Albus Severus Potter, the boy who had hurt them, escaped them. A few of the silent wraiths did float over the borders of the forest, shrieking at Albus and Frank, but veered away before they got too close and disappeared back into the main body of unnatural fog.

"Look..." Frank whispered, pointing at the sky.

Albus followed his gaze upwards and saw the river of argent mist that had delivered them both from Gryffindor Tower and into the forest in the first place. It was thin now, no longer the fast-flowing river it had been, and only stretched above the forest about halfway between the trees and the window of the tower. Small pinpricks of starlight could be seen through it, but only a handful – the sky was very light to the east. It was near dawn.

It was quite beautiful, Albus thought, in a murderous sort of way. He found it hard to believe that he had practically surfed down that river of mist and into the nightmare in the forest.

"Let's get out of here," Albus said, glaring into the forest at the points of crimson light. The river of mist over their heads was fading fast now, being drawn back into the trees. And the creatures of the mist looked further away, receding into the darkness of the forest. Their shrieks were a distant thing, an echo of nothingness...

The first beam of sunlight from behind the hills to the east speared the castle of Hogwarts, and by the time that cool light reached the two boys standing alone before the impressive and dark Forbidden Forest, the mist had faded away, back from wherever it had come from, and not a single shriek pierced the otherwise cool but normal morning.

"It's gone," Frank said, quite unnecessarily. The relief in his voice was enough for the both of them.

Albus sat down on the cool cut grass and took the weight off his screaming ankle. The blood on his hands, on his arms, on his face and chest, was dry, and most of the cuts had stopped bleeding. There was nothing fancy about it – clear and red, not a hint of the magic that had destroyed half a dozen of the monsters that had tried to strangle them both.

"Some morning, aye," Albus said. He was warm but his teeth were chattering again, his whole body seemed to be shaking. He was coming down off whatever high had led them both out of the forest. A single tear cut a track through the dried blood and dirt on his cheek. He swatted it away before Frank saw.

"Al, what just happened?"

Albus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, I think we just found out the hard way why the Forbidden Forest is... forbidden."

Frank managed a grin. "Can you walk? Do you want me to go get some help?"

Albus shook his head and got back to his feet, wincing against the weight on his ankle. It had swelled quite considerably, three times its regular size, and an ugly purple bruise was visible even through the dried dirt that clung to his feet.

"How's your arm?"

Frank grimaced. "Kind of numb," he said.

"Oh, that can't be good."

'Not really, no."

It was only a few hundred feet up to the castle doors, but each step was an agony that threatened to break Albus's resolve. He practically _hobbled_ back up to the castle, and Frank used his good arm to support him. Their pace was slow, achingly so...

The heavy stained-oak doors that guarded the entrance to the school seemed impenetrable in the early morning light. No doubt they'd be locked and barred at this hour, just after half-five.

Frank tried the handle on the right side door and it clicked open on creaking old hinges. All thirty feet of it swung inwards as if it were as heavy as a leaf in the breeze. He and Albus stepped into the Entrance Hall, onto the red carpet covering the stone floors within the castle.

Albus limped for the staircase at the far end of the hall, and Frank helped him along.

Something exploded off to the left and both boys jumped out of their skin. Albus's heart, which was only just beating normally again, jumped so high in his chest that it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

"First-years, Ickle Firsties out of bed! Wee Potty Potter, plus one. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

Peeves the poltergeist slid down the banister, dressed in his outlandish clothes including a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie. Something exploded again at the foot of the stairs with a loud bang and a flash of bright blue light. Peeves had thrown it, and Albus knew it for a Weasley Wizz-bang, from Rose's uncle's shop.

"Ickle firsties out of bed, bed, bed..." Peeves chuckled, delighted. "Old Filthy-Filchy's on his way, firsties."

Albus didn't know how Peeves knew, but the poltergeist was correct. Both Frank and Albus heard quick footsteps shuffling down the long corridor at the top of the nearby staircase.

Argus Filch the caretaker came huffing and puffing down the grand staircase. He had obviously been alerted somehow to the front doors opening so early. He caught sight of the two Gryffindor's standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall and pointed a bony and gnarled finger at the pair of them.

"Ah, caught you! Trouble you're up to, is it? Sneaking in this early? Caught you out of bed and no doubt just out of bounds, I did. It'll be detention at the very least, boys, more likely expulsion though."

Filch walked over to them both and scowled, his hands on his hips, and his breath wheezing. A scrawny, dust-coloured cat that was older than the hills bared its teeth and hissed between his legs. Mrs Norris, Argus Filch's sidekick.

"First-year Gryffindors, is it? Always Gryffindor breaking the rules – and getting caught, that is. Not smart enough for anything else."

"That's righty-wighty, Filthy-Filchy," Peeves cackled, spinning through the air. "Peeves confiscated these Weasley Wizz-bangs from the Potter lad, he did."

"Away with you, Peeves," Filch growled. "Away with you or the Baron will hear of those stink pellets you let off in the Slytherin common room."

Peeves stuck out his tongue and blew a big, fat raspberry in Filch's face. He then gave Albus a wink and shot up through the ceiling, throwing one last wizz-bang for effect as he disappeared.

"Mr. Filch," Albus began. "We really need to see—"

"Quiet," Filch snapped. "Not here a week before your breaking the rules, Potter. Just like your father, and his father before him. Mind you me, lad, I've had enough of you Gryffindor's thinking to slip by me up to Merlin knows what kind of trouble. From the look of you both I'd say you've been in the _bloomin' forest!_**"**

"Yeah, we kind of have," Albus said, tiring of Filch fast. "But I'd really like to see Professor Lon—"

"Quiet, I said, Potter. I'm taking you to Professor Longbottom." Filch stamped his foot down, keeping his gnarled finger pointed at Albus. "Follow me, boys, and take a good look around – today might be the last you see of this castle."

Albus heard Frank swallow hard next to him and he caught his eye, shaking his head. "_Don't worry,"_ he whispered.

"They can't expel us, can they?" Frank asked.

Albus followed Filch up the stairs, favouring his good ankle as much as he could. A knot of pain had settled in his sprained joint, and it was constant whether he put weight on it or not now.

"For what? Being yanked out of bed by dark creatures?" Albus chuckled. "If anything Nev—Professor Longbottom we'll see to it we get an award for stopping the creatures attacking anyone else."

"Shut it, the pair of yer," Filch growled.

Frank didn't look any less worried, however, as they moved up through the ancient stone corridors, past suits of armour and portraits only just waking up after a long, quiet night.

They came after about five minutes to the part of the castle Albus knew held the staff-quarters, and at the top of a flight of stairs Filch turned to them both and gestured at the stone bench resting against the wall.

"Wait here – don't make me come looking for you, lads. Mrs. Norris, don't let them out of your sight." The scrawny cat sat down at the top of the stairs and stared unblinking at Albus and Frank, her tail swinging back and forth angrily, as Filch disappeared down the corridor.

"How old d'you reckon that cat is?" Frank asked after a moment.

Albus shook his head. "It was old twenty years ago, according to my dad."

The two boys did not have much to say. Both sat weary and hurting with their backs against the wall. Albus's head was pounding and he closed his eyes with a heavy yawn. When he opened them again only a few minutes later it was to see that Filch had returned, and with him Neville Longbottom.

"Felt the doors open, Professor," Filch was saying. "Here they are, just like I said. Good girl, Mrs. Norris."

"Albus?" Neville said, the amusement on his face quickly fading to concern as he took in the cuts and bruises covering Harry Potter's youngest son. "You look like you've had quite the night. And, Mr Jackson, too."

"Said he'd been in the forest, of all places," Filch said. "Not just out of bed and out of bounds, but out of bounds in the one place forbidden to all students. He needs to be straightened out while he's still young, Longbottom, you mark my words—"

"Thank you, Argus," Neville said. "I'll have a word with the boys here and find out just what they were doing."

Albus had known Neville most of his life, ever since he could remember, really. Neville was a wizard of average height with a lot of muscle clinging to his frame that had probably made him quite chubby and little back when he was Albus's age. He had blond hair that had thinned over the years and was slowly receding over his brow. He also looked like he had just been pulled out of bed early on a Saturday morning.

"Right you are," Filch grumbled, clearing not liking the dismissal he heard in Neville's words. "Come on, Mrs Norris, they'll be up and scrounging breakfast all too soon, throwing Fanged Frisbees and wizz-bangs and what have you..."

Filch's mutterings trailed away down the stairs and both the man and his words were soon gone.

Neville took a seat on the bench next to Albus and looked down at the two weary boys, raising an eyebrow. "Am I going to have to remove fifty points a piece from two of my newest house members?" he asked.

"No, Professor," Albus said.

"And why's that?"

"Because it wasn't our fault," Frank said. "It was the mist."

"The mist?" Neville asked. He caught the quick look between Albus and Frank, and wasn't surprised in the least when Albus shook his head and turned to look up at him. "So, you were in the forest, Filch said?"

Albus nodded, reluctant to recall the sheer terror he had felt beneath the eaves of the Forbidden Forest. It was hard to believe that it was only about half an hour ago it had all happened. Was that really sunlight streaming in through the window across the corridor? He felt as if it should still be dark, that what he needed to tell Neville should only be told in the dead of night.

He felt that during the day it would seem impossible, not as serious, just the wild imaginings of a pair of boys caught out where they shouldn't have been. Albus realised he was being silly, and took a deep breath before telling Neville what had happened.

"Well, I don't really know what to say, Professor," Albus began. "So I guess I'll start at the beginning. I was asleep in my bed up in Gryffindor Tower when..."

The words came easier than he'd imagined they would, yet the story still sounded far-fetched and the next best thing to impossible. Even to Albus's ears he sounded crazy talking of a living mist that had pulled him from his dormitory and cast him half a mile away into the forest. Still, it was the truth, and Frank nodded along, backing him up.

Neville's face grew more and more grim as Albus told him of fighting the mist-creatures, of his blood shining like fire. He didn't leave any detail out, what would be the point? By the time he was finished Neville's jaw was set, and his eyes were hard. He didn't really look like everyone's favourite Herbology teacher, not at all. He looked like a man that had once upon a time defied a Dark Lord...

"And then Filch found us in the Entrance Hall," Albus finished, his throat sore. He needed a drink of water. "And here we are now."

An uncomfortable silence fell between Albus and Frank, and Neville Longbottom. Both boys waited for his reaction - had he believed them? What did he think?

"I think," Neville said carefully, "that I'm going to have to wake Headmistress McGonagall quite early this morning."

"You believe me-us?" Albus asked, as Neville jumped to his feet.

"Of course I do, Al. There was no lie in your eyes at all as you told me what happened, you neither, Mr Jackson. Also Harry's son wouldn't make up lies about something as serious as this, not to just avoid a detention. You boys were very lucky."

Albus breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do you know what the creatures were, Professor?" Frank asked.

Neville shook his head. "They don't sound like anything I've heard of before."

"Oh... will we lose house points for being out of bounds?"

Neville snorted, although he still looked _deeply_ troubled. "Fifty house points to the both of you for bringing this to my attention straight away."

Frank's jaw dropped and Albus just grinned.

"Come on now," Neville said. "To the Headmistress's office. She'll want to hear what happened from you personally, and then we'll need to do a headcount to see if anyone else was taken or if it was just you two."

Albus sat up straight – he hadn't thought of that. What if the mist-creatures had taken anyone else from other floors of Gryffindor Tower? Or even from another house? What if James or Rose was...?

It was too horrible to contemplate, and for the first time in his young life Albus felt the kind of fear you could only feel for someone you truly care about. He had been afraid back in the forest, deathly afraid for his own life. But that was nothing compared to the harsh shudder that jolted his system as he thought of James lying in the forest, a creature with burning coals for eyes smothering the life out of him, freezing the very blood in his veins...

So real was the image that accompanied this thought that Albus for a terrible moment knew it to be true, _he knew it_, as sure as anything.

He leapt to his feet with a cry, and promptly collapsed to the floor as his ankle, which had been taking a chance to rest since Albus had been off his feet, exploded with a wave of fresh, raw pain that brought tears to his eyes.

"Albus!" Neville said.

The pain was enough to clear his mind, to calm him down. There was a very good chance, a better than good chance, that James was absolutely fine. He was overreacting and needed to stay calm.

"Professor," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll trade all the house points in the world for a pain-relief potion right now."

And then Albus laughed. One would not think that less than an hour ago this was the same boy that had been fighting for his life against creatures he could not name and did not understand. One would not think... yet it was.

Albus knew one thing for certain, as Neville and Frank helped him back up onto the bench – no one could tell him his first week at Hogwarts had been uneventful.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thank you once again for reading. I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am. Leave a review and let me know. Next chapter we have a few key things happening, and a little more excitement - but of the normal variety. Well... normal for Hogwarts._

_All the best,_

_joe_


	7. Chapter 5: To Awaken A Sleeping Giant

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own Harry Potter._

_**A/N:**__ Hmm... I'm thinking this story is going to be a lot more Harry-centric than first planned. And I like that. Albus will definitely continue to play a main role, but I see a lot more of Harry in the future. Thanks for reading, please review._

* * *

_**Chapter 5: To Awaken A Sleeping Giant **_

_Tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?  
Did you finally get a change to dance  
along the light of day, and head back  
towards the Milky Way?_

_--Train_

"Here we go," Neville said, easing Albus down onto the stone bench outside of the staff quarters. "Now let's see that ankle."

Albus winced as Neville took his swollen ankle in hand and tapped it with the tip of his wand. Through the dried dirt and blood his foot was pulsing with pain straight up his leg.

"Sprained," Neville confirmed. "And that means we don't need a time-consuming stop at the hospital, and we can let poor Madam Pomfrey have a sleep-in."

"Oh... I'll just hobble to Professor McGonagall's office then," Albus said.

Neville chuckled. "Your father actually taught me this charm twenty-one years ago in a little club we called Dumbledore's Army. _Vigoratus!_"

A warm blue light flowed from Neville's wand and coated Albus's ankle. Albus watched with a rising relief as the swelling went down and the fierce pain throbbing up through his leg died away.

"Good as new, Al," Neville said. "And can I see your arm, Mr Jackson?"

Frank hesitantly extended his injured arm away from his chest and Neville gently pulled back the torn and dirty sleeve of his tattered pyjama top, wincing when he saw the heavy bruising around Frank's elbow and the bulge of bone above the joint.

"Can you straighten it?"

"No," Frank said through gritted teeth. He was holding back tears.

"Broken, then," Neville said. "Or dislocated at the very least, Frank. Here, this should help with the pain but try not to move it – Poppy will need to have it set as soon as possible. _Vigoratus!_"

Frank breathed the same sigh of relief Albus had a moment ago, pulling his arm back in close to his chest.

"Thanks, Professor," he said.

Neville winked. "You can call me Neville outside of the greenhouses – now let's go, we have to let the Headmistress know what's happened."

"Can you tell my dad?" Albus asked. He would feel better just by knowing that his father, that Harry Potter, knew what had happened. "Can we owl him or...?"

Neville nodded. "Seeing as how I have no idea what attacked you boys, I'd feel better having Harry Potter know about it, too, Al. We'll see if Professor McGonagall can fire call him from her office."

"Thanks, Neville," Albus whispered, feeling another cord of strong relief run through him. And his ankle felt fine as he and Frank followed their professor up and through the moving staircases towards the seventh floor and Headmistress McGonagall's office.

* * *

Harry didn't like having to go into the office on a Saturday, and especially not this early in the morning. Being Head of Department was supposed to come with a few benefits, like weekends off – and prime box seats at the Quidditch for said weekends off. Yet the investigation he had ordered into the security breach at Azkaban and Dolores Umbridge's suicide had so far failed to return any results, and that annoyed him.

And he was beginning to think it less and less of a suicide, too.

No one had unnerved Harry the way he had been unnerved by the breach in Azkaban since Voldemort. Whoever had broken into the prison, and he had no doubt someone had broken in, had been powerful enough, clever enough, and insane enough to get in and out without leaving any trace of their presence – save a small piece of evidence, and that was inconclusive at best.

The autopsy he had asked the Unspeakables down in the Department of Mysteries to do on Umbridge had revealed one – perhaps vital – piece of information, one small clue. The woman had been possessed and her mind tortured so severely and efficiently in the _ten_ _minutes_ between breaking free and demanding to see Harry, and Harry actually arriving, that it had left her a raving lunatic – crazy, insane, with no hope of recovery, the Unspeakables' autopsy report had read.

And that unnerved Harry – there had only ever been one wizard capable of such an act, and that wizard had shared an all-too special link with Harry, and had on occasion attempted to invade Harry's mind and destroy his resolve and his sanity. But this was not Voldemort – Voldemort was dead.

This was someone who was clever enough to leave no trace except that which they wanted to be found – the mess in Umbridge's head – and someone clever enough to know Harry would take this personally, clever enough to know how Voldemort used to operate and to make it look like the Dark Lord was back in business.

But that was just ridiculous...

_No, _Harry thought. _Whoever it is doesn't want me to think it's really Voldemort, they want me to _know_ that they're out there, that they don't care that I know – they want me unnerved and off my guard._

And the hell of that was, it had worked.

"Who could it be...?" Harry whispered, staring blankly at the dead and sooty fireplace in his office.

A stack of Green One reports on his desk promised that the world was well, that nothing was amiss, and yet Harry couldn't help but feel Dolores Umbridge had been an arrow aimed straight for his heart, aimed personally at him and a cool and vicious strike against the competency of his Aurors...

He shook his head.

_A fugitive Death Eater, maybe? No, none of them could have done this. Could they?_

It was a possibility he could not rule out, but not a likely one. _Then who?_ Someone new or someone unexpected...? Someone who had yet to put in a true appearance?

Harry was angry as well as unnerved. All the resources of the Ministry, the best security in the world, and this _shadow_ had breached Azkaban, freed a maximum-security prisoner, drove her insane and then for all Harry knew twisted Umbridge's mind enough that she killed herself under orders... that fit the thin, transparent profile he had in his head of this clever _someone_.

Michelle Connolly, the Auror taken hostage, had reported no one else in the cell at any point save Umbridge herself and Harry when he had come to rescue her. Though Michelle had said that Umbridge had started screaming and raving once she had demanded to see Harry, there had been no one in the cell even then – no one she'd seen, anyway. There were ways of being there without actually being there.

Which led Harry to believe that whoever had messed in Umbridge's head had done so from a distance – and how many people on the planet were capable of that sort of dark magic? Were capable of traversing those blood-splattered and freezing avenues of the Dark?

The hell of it was, Harry knew he could do it, he understood almost uniquely how that sort of dark magic worked – had felt the rage himself more than once, the power. He absently rubbed at his infamous scar, remembering sore memories and stroking wounds that had never healed. He hated feeling like this – like he was running to catch up, a step behind a man who was going to laugh, and play... and slaughter the innocent.

The innocent would always pay for the ambition of the guilty.

And it was Harry's job, his duty, to stop them. But contrary to popular belief, Harry was not immortal and all-powerful, no matter how much this world revered him and applauded his deeds he was still, at times, stuck in that cupboard under the stairs – lost, lonely, never truly part of the world he lived in.

Ginny helped with that, as did the kids, and only on occasion did he let those feelings show... when a particular nasty case got to him, or all the old memories were dredged up to the surface every time he caught up to one of the rogue Death Eaters.

"It's not a Death Eater," Harry whispered, ignoring the quaver in his own voice, the dryness in his throat. "This is something new... something powerful."

And that was where the heart of Harry's unnerved fear lay – in a handful of dust, and where a Dark Lord could hide in the darkness and where the long howling between the idea and the reality, between the motion and the act... fell the _shadow_.

Harry snorted. He spent too much time reading dark muggle poetry. It was making him feel far too much like a little maudlin orphan. Yet more often than not reading muggle fantasy was like a reprieve from fighting and wallowing in the darkness that _truly_ existed in the world, hidden just out of sight and under the bed.

The kind of darkness that grew in that old familiar cupboard under the stairs, and followed you wherever you went and no matter how many miles or years you crossed to try and outrun it... it was always there before that light of hope Harry carried with him, that the world _believed _he carried with him. The darkness was always there first, always travelling faster than the light, and it was always waiting.

And how could you beat that? You couldn't, Harry knew. You have to _understand_ it, and fight with all the blood, sweat and tears you have just to hold on that extra second longer, even though when you wake up of a morning and look in the mirror you can see the darkness waiting – _actually see it_ – hiding in the back of your eyes with a deep crimson malice and threatening to slither forward for all the world like a snake brought back from the dead...

"_Stop it..._" Harry whispered, rubbing his forehead. He always got like this when he was on his own, away from those he cared about and with a heavy case weighing down on his mind.

He hurled his coffee cup into the fireplace with a snarl and stood up, kicking his chair back into his desk as the cup shattered. _No good_, he thought, _no good at all_. A stack of a dozen or so files fell to the already paper-strewn floor. Harry knelt down and shuffled the files back together, slamming closed the door on that dark old cupboard as he did. He still needed to go through these files, sign-off on them and make sure there was nothing hidden in the reports that may or may not help to identify the mysterious _Shadowman _of Azkaban.

He looked up through his thin, silver wire-framed glasses as the fireplace flared to life with emerald green flames that danced in his own fiery eyes, eyes still alight with anger from the brief slip in his composure a moment ago. A familiar head formed in the fire.

"Headmistress McGonagall," Harry said, crouching down in front of the fireplace.

"Ah, Harry, I'd just called at home and Ginny said you were here."

"What's the matter?" Harry knew the signs – something had happened. Early morning fire call, his old professor's face looking slightly drawn and pinched, even though it was made of solid green flame. If anything the flame served to emphasise the worry in McGonagall's eyes.

"Albus, and another young Gryffindor named Frank Jackson, were attacked last night in Gryffindor Tower by a crea—."

"_What!_ Is Al okay—?" Harry's mind immediately assumed the worst, immediately assumed that one of his old enemies, or maybe his clever new enemy, had fired another arrow straight at his heart – and this time it had struck home.

"He's fine, Harry. Shaken, but fine. We're here in my office at Hogwarts – could I ask you to come straight away? There's quite a story to be told."

Harry frowned, and felt his heart beat drop back down a few paces towards normal. Albus was okay. "Yeah, on my way, Professor."

* * *

Albus accepted a warm cup of tea with muttered thanks from the Headmistress and sipped it with a sigh. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been in his life. Last night had drained him physically, emotionally... and magically.

_Why did my blood glow and not Frank's?_

"Your father should be here at any moment, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. It was still early in the morning, barely an hour past dawn, and yet the Headmistress looked as if she had been awake and getting on with the day for hours.

"That's good."

"Neville, perhaps it would be best if you took Mr Jackson to the infirmary now. And then please inform the rest of the staff what has occurred, have them do a head count before the day truly starts and we have students running all over the castle and grounds."

"Will do," Neville nodded. "Come on, Frank."

Frank rose and placed his own tea cup carefully on the fine china saucer resting on McGonagall's polished oak desk. "See you later, Al," he said, stifling a yawn. "Thanks for... whatever it was you did to them."

"See you, Frank."

No sooner had they left than the fireplace, smouldering softly with gentle yellow flames, roared with green fire and a figure came swirling out of the floo with a quick and hurried step.

"Dad!"

"Hey, kid," Harry Potter said, his eyes fixing hard onto Albus and sweeping up and down his ruined pyjamas. "Not a week and you're already getting into trouble? You trying to break my record?"

"I fear that would be quite impossible, Harry," Headmistress McGonagall said, warmly for her. She walked around her desk and embraced Harry in a brief hug. "It is always good to see you back at Hogwarts."

"It's always good to be back, especially in this old office, Professor."

Albus watched his dad genuinely smile and felt his own grin creeping across his face. This was the first time he had ever been in the Headmistress's office, but he knew his father had been a regular visitor back in his days at the school. Albus Dumbledore had been headmaster then.

He looked briefly around the room at the dozens of portraits hanging from the walls and the rows and rows of shelves full of books and sheaves of parchment. The Sorting Hat rested on a shelf of its own high up near the top of the vaulted ceiling. On the far side of the room were desks and long tables covered in strange and wonderful silver instruments, some of them puffing small clouds of smoke, others glowing with a soft light. In a glass cabinet just to one side stood a shining silver sword with a gem-encrusted hilt, glittering magnificently in the early morning light streaming in through the tall windows.

_The sword of Godric Gryffindor_, Albus thought, almost whispering the words. He knew the stories – his dad had slain a basilisk with that blade, and Neville had cut the head of Voldemort's snake, Nagini.

Directly behind McGonagall's desk, just to the left of a spiral staircase that supposedly led up to her personal quarters at the top of the seventh floor tower, hung a portrait in an ornate frame. Albus Potter stared up into the twinkling eyes of his namesake, and Albus Dumbledore stared back at him through his half moon spectacles and smiled warmly, with all the care and love of an elderly grandfather.

"Good morning, sir," Harry said, following his youngest son's gaze to Dumbledore's portrait.

"Dear boy, what unforseen tragedy and circumstance calls you to your offices this early of a morning? Is change afoot in the world? Are we once again beset on all sides?"

Harry grinned. "Still the same old world, Professor, just new faces upsetting the balance of things."

"Ah, is there adventure on the high wind, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, and winked at his son. "I don't know, but I think Albus may have had his fill last night. What happened, Al? You look like you got into a fight with a tree – and lost."

Albus sighed and looked down at his torn striped pyjamas. He took a deep breath to start his story for the third, and what he considered the most important, time.

Harry moved back around the desk away from Dumbledore's portrait and sat down in the cushioned armchair next to Albus, where Frank had been sitting five minutes ago. He put a hand on his son's shoulder and Albus let out his breath slowly.

"I was asleep," he began, meeting his father's eyes, "in my bed up in Gryffindor Tower and..."

It came easier this time, already lived through and twice-rehearsed. Albus told his dad about being pulled out of the window and literally _sliding_ down into the forest on the river of freezing mist, pulled by the creatures with burning crimson eyes. He told him about punching through the canopy of trees and landing in more of the same mist, of Frank following soon after, and then the creatures attacking.

Harry's face grew darker and darker as Albus related what had happened to him in the early hours of that morning. And he released his grip on his son's shoulder before it became too hard. He clenched his fists across his lap, emerald eyes sparkling all too dangerously.

"Your blood?" Harry said sharply, as Albus spoke of punching a mist-creature and having it explode in a fountain of golden sparks. "You're sure, Al, your blood was glowing?"

Albus nodded quickly, toward the dried blood that stained his hands from the half a dozen cuts and scrapes all over his arms. "Only it didn't work for Frank, just me."

Harry stood grimly, his jaw set hard. "So you got one of them," he said, a proud note in his voice. "Then what? I imagine the other creature was none too happy."

Albus shook his head. "It tried to take Frank back into the mist, but I ran over and hit it as well, and the same thing happened."

"Good lad," Harry said fiercely. There was no mistaking the pride in his voice now. "You got out of the forest after that?"

"Not just like that," Albus said. "There were more of them..."

Albus told Harry how he and Frank had been surrounded, and how he had raised his glowing hands, shining with his hot blood, to clear a broken path through the _army_ of mist creatures. He told his dad how they had escaped the forest just moments before dawn, and how the creatures had shrieked with rage before disappearing.

"Back into the forest?" Harry asked.

"No, they just _disappeared_, faded away like ghosts."

Harry frowned and muttered to himself, running his mind through the catalogue of dark and dangerous creatures he had met and knew about. None of them matched what Albus had described. "And they didn't follow you out of the forest?"

"A few of them did, but they didn't get far before turning back. I think... I think the sun scared them away."

"Hmm..." Harry nodded, he agreed with that. It made no sense. Were these creatures of mist vampiric in some way? No, Albus's blood had destroyed half a dozen of them – but Frank's hadn't even touched them – and vampires loved blood. Harry had bite mark scars on his left wrist to attest to that – a mission turned bad some ten years ago. He had almost ended up becoming that which he had been hunting. It made no sense.

Albus took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He was hungry, hungry and tired. And also afraid – the sun would set tonight, after all, and who knew what would come out of the forest then? The creatures would definitely have a personal hate for him after he had hurt them and escaped. He had even felt that, right at the end there on the edge of the forest – a cold and patient fury for the boy who had lived.

Harry seemed to read something of what was running through his son's mind. "It'll be okay, Al. With Professor McGonagall's permission, I'll have Aurors on guard here until we sort his out – just to make sure nothing more comes out of that forest."

"I think that would be wise," McGonagall said, a rare smile directed towards Harry.

"Can I go and have a shower now?" Albus asked, yawning. "And some breakfast."

Harry nodded. "I'll come see you before I go, kid, and James. Are you sure you're okay?"

Albus – not wanting to appear weak in front of his father or the headmistress – nodded. "I'm okay. Don't let mum worry about me."

Harry smiled and knelt down to wrap his arms around his son in a tight hug. He stood up, ruffling his unruly hair. "Try not to get into too much trouble between now and breakfast, Al."

Albus grinned. His dad would know what to do now, because his dad was Harry Potter, and Harry Potter protected the whole world from the worst that was out there. "No promises, dad."

"Ha, cheeky little bugger – off with you now."

The large mahogany door of the Headmistress's office closed silently behind small Albus Potter as he left, and his soft footsteps soon faded away on the cool castle stone.

"None of the wards picked up anything?" Harry asked McGonagall once his son was gone, still staring at the door.

"Not a whisper, Dark magic or otherwise," the Headmistress replied, and Harry could tell that that unnerved her.

It unnerved him, too – unnerved twice in a week now – that was a record since Voldemort and a point to whatever dark forces were conspiring against him.

"Something targets not just the school but the dormitory where my youngest son is fast asleep, drags him and the Jackson lad into the Forbidden Forest, and then tries to strangle them both..." Harry was thinking fast, playing it through in his mind, putting himself in Albus's place. "Only they get a surprise because for some reason Albus can defend himself, he escapes the creatures – kills a few of them, even – and threatens them all with this unknown power in his blood." Harry let out the same slow breath his son had a moment ago, only his was laced not with anxious fear but with barely contained fury.

"He performed admirably, Harry, not leaving his young friend behind," Dumbledore's portrait said, and Harry turned to look up at the deceased headmaster. "Although he is far too young to be making such unknown and mysterious enemies."

Harry wiped his brow, feeling hot and nervous, worried for his son's well-being. "You're never too young to die, Dumbledore," he said softly. "Voldemort taught me that, and in the end taught me not to fear it. Crimson eyes..." he finished, muttering away to nothing. Why would the creatures have crimson eyes?

A few small items on McGonagall's desk began to shake, as did the books nestled in the shelves across the room. The small tinkling of Dumbledore's old instruments brought Harry back out of his thoughts as they nearly fell from the tables in the corner. He took a deep breath and got a hold on his power before his anger released an outburst of raw magic that would cause considerable damage.

"Are you okay, Harry?" McGonagall asked, glancing at Dumbledore.

"No I don't think I am, Minerva," Harry said, and grit his teeth hard. At that moment it was clear who commanded the highest authority and respect in the room, portraits included. "It's one thing to attack me, but whatever happened to Albus was aimed personally at Albus, and it was only aimed at him so I'd get the message. Whoever or whatever did this crossed a line last night, and they're going to regret it."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, cleared the tension building in the room. "And they did so with magic beyond even my extensive knowledge."

Harry blinked and the shelves across the room stopped shaking. The scent of his magic was still heavy on the air, however, almost humming. Like burning electricity, it was a power that had defeated a Dark Lord, a power that could have been multiplied a hundredfold through the Elder Wand...

"You have no idea, Professor, what these mist creatures were?"

"None at all," Dumbledore replied. "Perhaps you should ask Hagrid if he has ever seen such beasts in the forest before."

Harry doubted that, but it was a lead he'd follow to a probable dead-end anyhow. At the very least he could warn Hagrid, have the half-giant keep an eye out should the mist creatures attempt a repeat performance.

Or whoever was in command of such monsters.

Harry had not forgotten the reference Umbridge had made back in Azkaban to a _Lord Mist_. Was that a coincidence? Insane psycho-babble from a woman whose mind had been raped and torn asunder in mere minutes? Crimson eyes... He did not believe in coincidence, not when it came to something as serious as this. His son attacked, Azkaban and Hogwarts both breached inside a week, and both attacks struck a strong, emotional cord in Harry's soul.

He scowled at the far wall, thinking dark thoughts. He reminded himself that Albus was okay. That didn't lessen his anger much at all, because it was only through sheer luck that his son was not lying dead and cold in the Forbidden Forest right now.

"_A warning, Potter-boy, a lightning bolt, a key to the Lord Myst."_

Harry cracked the knuckles of his right hand against the palm of his left.

"I'll have a full security detail here before sunset, Professor," he said, turning to McGonagall who had been conversing with Dumbledore's portrait. "Two six-man teams that will patrol the grounds until sunrise."

McGonagall sighed but nodded. "There's been no need for Aurors at Hogwarts since the Battle all those years ago."

"And again, if it's okay with you, Professor, I'd like to ask a few of the Unspeakables to come and test the air, take a few samples and do whatever it is they do to decode Dark magic use."

"If you think it will help, Harry."

"I do." Harry nodded. "I want to know who or what summoned these unknown creatures, and why they attacked my son. There's more to what happened to Albus than just getting my attention." Harry paused and moved his hand slowly through the air before him, as if he were brushing aside a curtain. He clenched his fist around those same invisible drapes. "I can _feel_ it, that old familiar sense of... mystery and unease."

Harry turned as the door to McGonagall's office swung open with a small creak. Neville Longbottom walked back into the room after leaving with Frank just over half an hour ago. He smiled when he saw Harry and Harry returned it with genuine warmth in his eyes.

The two men shook hands and greeted each other kindly.

"All students and staff present and accounted for, Professor McGonagall," Neville said. "Hope I'm not interrupting though, Harry."

"Not at all," Harry said. "Did you see James? Does he know about Al?"

Neville shook his head. "Don't think he knows yet, though rumours are spreading fast that _something_ happened last night, and that it involved two first-year Gryffindors, one of which is having a broken arm tended to in the hospital as we speak. No doubt the full story and a hundred different rumours will have circulated throughout the school ten times over by lunch."

"Will you watch out for him?" Harry asked. "Make sure no one gives him a hard time about it."

Neville saluted. "You got it, but I reckon Albus is one who can watch out for himself."

Harry tried to suppress his proud grin. It had been a nightmare, what his son had been through, yet he had pulled through with the same tenacity and strength of character that had led Harry to the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, that had led him down into the Chamber of Secrets only a year later. A tenacity that had grown hard and fast into courage enough to challenge a Dark Lord in a godforsaken grave yard at the tender age of fourteen.

"All the same, Nev, make sure he doesn't go off on his own," Harry said. "Or try to do anything... rash."

"You mean like his dad would have?" Neville raised an eyebrow. "You think something's going on?"

Harry shook his head slowly, looking between Neville, McGonagall, and then finally up to Dumbledore. "I don't know," he said, and that was the truth. All he had were hollow suspicions and very little evidence of foul play. _Someone_ was pulling invisible strings, that much was certain – but the how and why of it was masked in shadow... shadow and _mist._

"If there is something going on, I'll drag it out into the light kicking and screaming, Nev," he said softly, certain and sure.

* * *

Albus felt a whole world of better after he stepped out of the steaming hot shower, having washed away the blood and dirt and what he imagined was the cold, lingering touch of the mist.

He slipped on a pair of loose blue jeans and a white polo shirt, dispensing with the robes for today, and headed out down to the common room just as the rest of Gryffindor Tower was slowly beginning to wake up for the weekend.

"Spill it," James Potter said as soon as he reached the bottom of the spiralling staircase. He stood with Marcus and Ethan, both of them looking disgruntled at being up so early. "Neville comes in, waves his wand around to make sure everyone's here where they should be, and you stumble in looking like you went three rounds with a mountain troll."

Albus opened his mouth to talk but—

"Was it the Slytherins?" James asked, his voice heated. "They gave me a bit of a hard time beginning of last year because of dad, only a few of them, but it was just words. There's a Malfoy here now though, isn't there? Did that little turd Scorpius and his mates trick you into a duel?"

Albus shook his head. "No—"

"We'll sort them, Al," James ploughed right on ahead. "Just tell us who it was and we'll make sure they won't bother you again."

"Eh, James," Marcus said, tapping his friend on the shoulder. "Shut it, would you, and let the kid speak."

Albus grinned, already putting behind him the night in the forest. It was just a memory, after all, and although he was still worried the creatures might come back for him, he knew his dad wouldn't allow that. _Nothing_ could get past his dad.

And before a certain blond-haired Slytherin ended up on the wrong end of a bat-bogey hex or something much more inventive, Albus began to tell James and his friends what happened, moving over into the comfy armchairs by the fireplace as he did.

"And I punched it and it kind of exploded," Albus said a few minutes later, looking into the wide, disbelieving eyes of his brother and two mates. "It's true, dad's here now, with Professor McGonagall. He said he'd see us before he left."

James was, for once, speechless. His lips moved soundlessly for a few moments, but Ethan broke the silence first. "Where's your friend, the little fella, Frank?"

"Infirmary getting his arm looked at by Madam Pomfrey. He broke it in the fall."

"You obviously got out of the forest okay?" Marcus said, nodding for Albus to continue his story.

Albus nodded, but said, "Can we go down for breakfast now? I'm starving." He made to stand up but James pushed him back down.

"Not until you tell me how you escaped these Slytherins disguised as mist-creatures."

Albus snorted and rolled his eyes. "Me and Frank ran out of the forest as fast as we could, and when the sun came up all the mist disappeared. Then we came back to the castle, Filch spotted us and took us to Neville, who took us to Professor McGonagall, who fire called dad."

"Hold up a minute," Ethan said. "So Harry Potter's really here in the castle right now?"

Albus nodded. "Er... yeah."

"Wicked."

"What the real question is though," Marcus said thoughtfully, tapping his chin, "is how you did magic without a wand, Al? That's... amazing."

"It just happened." Albus shrugged, looking down at the cuts on his hands. "Lucky it did. Now I'm going to get pancakes, you coming with me?"

James stood and nodded fiercely. "Oh yeah, no Slytherins are going to jump you again, Al, not while I'm around."

"I really don't think the Slytherins had anything to do with this one, James," Ethan remarked, as the four of them headed for the portrait hole and beyond that the Great Hall.

"That's what they want you to think, Ethan," James said. "Oh that's exactly what they want you to think."

* * *

Harry found Alfred Drogin, one of his Senior Aurors, and the man he had assigned to the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at McGonagall's request, doing chin-ups from a bar he had installed between two of the crenulated walls in his office above the DADA rooms.

"Commander," Drogin said, as Harry entered his office. He fell down off the bar, his bare chest coated in a sheen of sweat and his thinning grey hair stuck down against his forehead. "What brings you all the way out to the fringes of the most exciting assignment in the world?"

Harry smiled and tossed Drogin a white towel draped over the back of the chair before his heavy oak desk. Alfred Drogin had not wanted to be stuck in an office job, yet Harry had insisted. Drogin was the best of the best, the most senior Auror in the Department, and the only reason he wasn't Commander himself was because he hadn't wanted the promotion when it came up all those years ago. Drogin was a field Auror, always had been and always will be. Teaching a bunch of kids the disarming hex would seem about as exciting as watching paint dry to a man who had served in both Dark Wars against Voldemort, and all the dozens of dangerous assignments before, in between, and after the Dark Lord's rise to power.

"Hogwarts can be full of surprises, Drogin," Harry said, with a grin that only just touched his eyes. "I told you that at the assignment briefing. Why, just last night my youngest son was attacked by creatures I can't identify," Drogin looked up sharply, "stolen right out of the castle, and did battle with them in the Forbidden Forest."

"You're serious?" Drogin tossed the towel aside, motioning for Harry to sit as he moved around his desk and leaned back into his chair. "What happened?"

Harry related the story that Albus had told him only a short hour ago, watching Drogin's eyebrows raise almost right under his fringe before turning down into a harsh and unforgiving scowl.

"That kid's an apple that didn't fall far from the tree," Drogin said once Harry had finished. "Smart as well, Commander, I can tell you that much."

"He's doing well in your class? He wrote home to say he'd passed your first quiz with flying colours."

"He did at that. Top mark, perfect score, his knowledge of defence is excellent for an eleven year-old. He knew the difference between an angular and forced-jab wand movement when casting protective magic. Only one in my first- to third-years to get that right. Forced me to hand out some house points, which I'd so far managed to avoid."

Drogin laughed and Harry steered the conversation back to more important matters. "Do you have any idea of what attacked him, Alfred? Have you heard of these mist-creature things before?

Drogin shook his head, sharp and sure. "Can't say that I have. Although it's a big world out there, and a lot of darkness for the unknown to hide in."

Harry nodded. He had expected as much. If Dumbledore hadn't known anything then it was unlikely that these creatures could be so easily identified. But darkness such as this didn't just come out of nowhere – somewhere, some record would exist, and Harry would employ the full resources of his Department in hunting that record down, and finding whoever was responsible for endangering his son's life.

"I'm sending a protective detail – twelve good Aurors – to patrol the grounds tonight and over the next week or so. I'm placing them under your direct command, Drogin, reporting directly to me. I want to keep this under wraps until we know exactly what we're dealing with."

"You think this is more than just a random dark creature attack?"

"I do," Harry nodded. "And so do you. The very fact alone that it was _my_ son that was attacked rules out anything other than a pre-planned assault."

Drogin had his wand in hand and he tapped it thoughtfully against the side of his chair. Harry saw the wheels turning in the man's head, already formulating a plan of attack and defence, spreading his twelve-man team into the most strategic positions he could see about the castle.

"You knew something was wrong, didn't you?" Drogin said after a long moment. "That's why you forced this _teaching_ assignment down my throat."

Harry sat up straight with his hands crossed gently over his lap, his face emotionless and calm. "You're the third Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in as many years, Drogin. Believe me, that's something to be concerned about."

"How do you mean?"

Harry shook his head. "Just watch your back, and if you're still teaching next year then I'm worrying over nothing... but curses can sometimes have lingering effects, even after they're broken. I'm hoping that's all this is, but preparing for the worst at the same time."

Drogin was no idiot. "This goes back to Voldemort somehow, doesn't it?"

"I get the feeling that someone's messing with me, Drogin. And may have been planning to do so for years... You heard about Azkaban?"

Drogin nodded, yet said nothing.

Harry fell silent as well, contemplating all the thoughts running through his mind. Coincidences and strange happenings piling up all over the place, and somehow all connected to him... and now Albus.

"Constant vigilance, Commander."

Harry nodded, remembering old Mad-Eye Moody just for a moment before pulling himself back to the present. He reached into the deep pocket of his robes and removed a small square of old parchment.

"Here," he said, handing it carefully to Drogin.

"What's this?" the Senoir Auror asked, unfolding the leaf of parchment to find it dusty and empty. "Just a bit of old parchment."

Harry smiled fondly and leant forward to tap his wand against the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Drogin's amused surprise faded away into appreciation as the parchment began to fill fast with smooth lines of ink, mapping the castle and all those who walked within its walls and out on the grounds.

"This has been gathering dust in my office for many years," Harry said. "I still look at it sometimes – last year, just to check on James now and again – but I think it will prove more use to you at the moment."

"It's an enchanted map of the school, in real-time from the look's of things," Drogin said, looking at the small dots in his office that read _Harry Potter_ and _Alfred Drogin._

"The Marauder's Map. Made by my father and his friends back when they were at school. Possibly the most comprehensive aid to mischief ever conceived of by school children."

"It's incomplete in parts," Drogin said, casting his eyes across the whole thing. "There are parts of the castle missing here, and here... here, too. I can't tell if anybody's in there."

Harry nodded. "Those are parts of the castle that were destroyed and rebuilt in the Battle of Hogwarts. The map was made about twenty years before that. I didn't want to try and update it in case it lost whatever magic made it work – and the four people who made it took that secret to the grave."

"An impressive bit of magic. I'll keep an eye on it, make sure no one's on the grounds or in the castle that shouldn't be."

Harry nodded. "Constant vigilance," he said.

* * *

By the time Frank Jackson came down from the infirmary with his arm bandaged and hanging in a sling around his neck, two dozen different rumours about what had happened in the early hours of that morning had grown from the Gryffindor breakfast table in the Great Hall and spread to every house in new and strange ways.

Albus kept his head down, talking to Rose, Hannah, and Gary about mist-creatures, but couldn't escape the whispers and hurried glances that reached his eyes and ears.

"_He was in the Forest after-hours..."_

"_Filch caught them both setting off wizz-bangs in the Entrance Hall..."_

"_Yeah, Harry Potter's son, went looking in the Forbidden Forest and found more than he bargained for."_

"_Something broke into Gryffindor Tower and Albus Potter fought it off with his bare hands."_

"_I heard it was just a bunch of poltergeists, nothing to be worried about..."_

All the talk and rumours couldn't put Albus off his pancakes and syrup, however, which had fast become his favourite meal of the day. He started every morning off with a stack of fluffy-brown cakes, fresh from the pan and practically dripping with thick, hot syrup. It left him feeling full and bloated till around about lunch time. He loved his breakfast, did Al.

"Frank!" Albus managed through a mouthful of food.

Frank slipped onto the long polished bench between Albus and Gary, mindful to keep his arm from banging against the table. "Never broken my arm before," he said.

"Will it be okay?" Rose asked.

Frank nodded. "Madam Pomfrey said she'd seen worse."

"Albus told us what happened," Hannah whispered. "How frightening! Are you okay?"

Frank grinned. "Thanks to Albus, I am."

"Half the school knows," Albus grumbled, picking up his goblet. "James thinks it was the Slytherins who did it somehow."

"Well, he's about as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest then, isn't he?" Frank surmised, trying to butter himself some toast with his good arm, which was no easy task.

Albus snorted and pumpkin juice came flying out of his nose and down his shirt. Both Gary and Frank burst into fits of laughter.

"Gross," Rose and Hannah said at the same time.

The loud chatter and laughter from the House tables died away to nothing as a lone figure entered through the large open doors from the Entrance Hall. It was eerie, how quick and fast the talk fell down to furious murmurs and startled gasps, as the most recognisable face in the wizarding world entered the Great Hall, his eyes scanning the Gryffindor table up and down.

Harry Potter walked with a smile down the length of the table and came to Albus and his friends with a hundred whispers flying through the air around him.

"Hi, Rose," Harry said, upon seeing Ron and Hermione's daughter.

"Hello, Uncle Harry," she said, blushing.

Harry laughed and clapped Albus on the shoulder. "You're supposed to drink your pumpkin juice, Al, not wear it."

"Frank made me laugh!"

"Well, at least his sense of humour isn't broken. How's the arm, Mr Jackson?" Harry asked.

"Fine, sir," Frank replied. "Madam Pomfrey said it should be all healed by tonight."

Talk had resumed in the Hall around the Gryffindor table, yet not as loudly or as animatedly as before. Most were still staring in awe at Harry Potter, who for all the world looked just like any other wizard. A few of the people nearby could even see his scar through his unruly fringe. Yet the rumours were flying faster than ever now. If Harry Potter was here then maybe something really had happened last night...

"I just wanted to say goodbye to you and..."

"Hey, dad!" James said, having slipped out of his seat further up the table and walked up.

"There's my other one," Harry said, ruffling James's hair. He crouched down on his ankles so that he was eye-level with Albus, and pulled James in close, shielding them all from most of the eavesdroppers. "You've heard what happened by now James." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, dad. I reckon the Slytherins had something to do with it."

Harry grinned, but his heart wasn't in it. "No, this is something else," he said. "Something attacked your brother, tried to kill him, James. This wasn't inter-house rivalry."

"Told you," Albus said, shoving James's arm.

"What are you going to do about it?" James asked, keeping his voice low and steady, gazing hard into his father's eyes.

And although James was only twelve years old, Harry saw in his son's eyes the same cool anger that had, at times, seen him through some of the worst situations in his life. Young, he thought, too young, yet it had been no different for Harry – just a lot more intense. After all, it was well known that Harry Potter shouldn't have lived to see his second birthday.

"There'll be Aurors hanging around the castle at night, just to keep an eye out, and that's all good and well, but I want you two to do something for me as well."

"What...?" Albus asked.

Harry tried to make his voice a little less hard, a little less demanding. "Just look out for each other, and for everyone else. You boys are Potters, and that's what we do best. Try to stay out of trouble – and let me know if you see and hear anything suspicious. You kids see a lot more of the goings on at Hogwarts than the staff ever does! Just... just take care and let me know if you find anything."

Albus wasn't sure why at that moment he thought of the _vision _he had suffered during Transfiguration the other day. It had left his mind almost entirely over the last few days, just something odd that had happened in a castle where odd things were happening all the time – and how could they not, with the sheer level of magic flying about this place? – but think of it he did and he opened his mouth to tell his father about it but then paused, the words dying before leaving his throat.

_I have nothing more to say to you, Potter, he said quietly. You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!_

Albus didn't want to tell his father about this with Frank and Rose listening in nearby, not even with James able to hear. There were already enough rumours flying around without adding another to the pile – that Albus Potter was soft in the head, and had visions of dead Dark Lords whilst learning how to transfigure a match into a needle. The more he thought about it the crazier it sounded in his head. No, it wasn't important, really, and nothing like it had happened for the rest of the week.

_If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy..._

He couldn't even say with all certainty now that it had even happened. A few brief seconds, a voice in his head and a flash of dark eyes. He could've imagined it, and he didn't want to distract his dad from what was really important – the mist-creatures – with something that could just as easily have been his imagination.

Harry seemed to sense that Albus was hesitating over something, however, as he gripped his son's shoulder and knocked him out of his thoughts.

"Al," Harry said, gazing at his son through his glasses, his eyes kind and old, "is there something you wish to tell me?"

"Just to take care as well, dad," Albus replied. "And say hi to mum and Lily."

Harry held his son's gaze for a moment and then nodded, pulling both his boy's in for a quick hug. "I love you, lads. Remember what I said – look out for each other, and keep your friends close, they'll watch your back while you take care of whatever's coming at you from the front."

Harry received two very mumbled and embarrassed replies of 'love you too, dad,' from Albus and James, who were definitely trying hard not to be overheard by their classmates now.

Harry stood and let them go. "Be good, expect a letter from mum, Al, demanding you write home immediately and assure her you're okay. If not before then I'll see you boys for Christmas."

"Bye, dad."

"Try and stay out of detention, James," Harry said, but his eldest was already racing back down the elongated table to his friends and breakfast.

"Bye, dad," Albus said. "Sorry to drag you all the way out here."

Harry smiled. "You handled yourself well, Al, don't let anyone tell you different. Ten years down the line I'd be proud to have someone as brave as you training to be an Auror with Uncle Ron – he'd love that. Watch out for your brother, he's liable to dive headfirst into a nest of banshees if he's not careful."

"I will."

"Good lad."

* * *

Harry decided he'd save himself a trip back up to the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office and head for the castle gates and apparate back to the Ministry. He also wanted to have a quick word with Hagrid and take a look at the Forbidden Forest for himself.

The morning was cool and it was still early enough that his breath hung condensed on the air like a wisp of cloud as Harry made his way to Hagrid's cabin. He guessed his old friend was home and awake as smoke lazily chuffed out of his chimney.

The border of the forest looked as dark and impenetrable as ever. No long, cold fingers of mist spiralled up and around any of the trees and only a breeze disturbed the leaves on what was an otherwise silent, brooding mass of ancient wood and dangerous creatures.

Harry looked up and over his shoulder as he walked down the castle lawn, up to Gryffindor Tower and the several hundred feet of clear air between the ground and even the lower windows of the tower...

He judged the distance between the windows and the border of the forest at about a quarter mile, and was thankful only that the mist-creatures had decided to play with their prey first, and take them into the forest. Albus and Frank could have just as easily plummeted to their deaths, and when the mist faded at dawn no one would have been any the wiser.

Was that a mistake on behalf of whoever was behind the attempted murder of his son? Had the _Shadowman_ of Azkaban been responsible for this, too, and if so had he revealed more than intended? It was a definite possibility, one that Harry would exploit ruthlessly.

"Who's calling this early?" Hagrid said from inside his cabin as Harry knocked three quick times on the door. "Harry!"

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry said, his hands in his pockets. "Nice pyjamas."

Hagrid, grinning from ear to ear and looking great in his bright orange polka-dot nightwear, invited Harry in for a cup of tea but Harry declined, and proceeded to tell him about what had happened to Albus and Frank Jackson.

Hargid's face grew pale and then hard as Harry explained what had happened just a few short hours ago, and Hagrid joined him outside looking into the forest as he finished the story.

"Didn't hear a thing during the night," Hagrid said. "Yer sure about all this?"

"Albus put on a brave face, but he was shaken up, Hagrid. I believe him, so does Professor McGonagall."

Hagrid nodded, stroking his wiry beard as Fang strolled slowly down the steps and nudged Harry's hand. Harry obliged and stroked the old hound behind the ears.

"Nothin' I've heard of in the forest that could do what yer saying, Harry, but I'll go and ask the centaurs later on today."

"Be careful," Harry said. "We've no idea at all what we're dealing with."

"Right you are," Hagrid nodded. "Sure yer can't stay for a cup of tea?"

"Sorry, no. I've got a team to prep for tonight as well as half a dozen leads to follow up now." Harry paused, wondering if he should actually head into the forest and poke around. He decided against it. The last time he had entered the forest was to burn and bury Voldemort, nearly twenty years ago now. "And Ginny," he said suddenly. "I'll have to tell her what's happened before anything else. Thanks, Hagrid, I'll see you later."

"Take care, Harry."

"You too."

It was only five minutes walk to the large wrought-iron gates that marked the beginning of the road to Hogsmeade and also the edge of the castle's anti-apparation wards, and those five minutes passed by in a blur of thought and detective work for Harry.

He'd prioritise this case alongside the Azkaban breach as soon as he got back to the Ministry. There was a link here, he knew, and that link was him – was Harry Potter. Dumbledore's portrait had been right to ask if change was afoot in the world. It was, and even Voldemort had started out small, hadn't he?

That was a lesson learned the hard way, all those years ago.

Harry intended to stamp out this virus, this _Shadowman_, before he had a chance to multiply and do some real damage.

Yet so far there was not a shred of evidence to even suggest the _Shadowman_ existed, only what Harry's instincts were telling him and a lifetime of fighting the worst of the worst. And that would be enough to justify the expense of a full investigation to the Ministry.

With a small pop Harry Disapparated as soon as he passed the castle gates, and reappeared hundreds of miles away just on the edge of his own driveway, on the edge of his own anti-apparation protection.

"Ginny's going to go mental..." he said, beginning the walk up the drive as the wards recognised him and the house sprang into view.

Harry sighed. Barely nine o'clock on Saturday morning... it was going to be a long weekend. Why couldn't the bad guys find something better to do? Or bother someone else?

He didn't know the answer to that, all he did know was that it had been a mistake to attack his son. A mistake someone would pay dearly for.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thanks for reading and please leave a review to tell me what you thought. Next chapter is already in the works, shouldn't be anymore than a week._


	8. Chapter 6: Riddles In The Dark

_**Disclaimer:**__ Don't fight it, don't fight it, if you don't know what it is... _

_**A/N:**__ Hey there, loyal readers. Another weekly update. I'm enjoying writing this story so much - it hasn't been this fun and exciting for awhile. For those of you who don't know, my real name is Joe and I'm the author of a series of fics called The Hero Trilogy. So join my Yahoo! group for the latest updates and story news. Link's in my profile. _

_Cheers much,_

_joe6991_

* * *

_**Chapter 6 – Riddles In the Dark**_

_Honey, guess what I did at work today?  
I wore a bomb.  
A nuclear bomb in a field of flowers...  
Tomorrow I could get lucky,  
I could have a bigger bomb.  
I could kill more people.  
Children, maybe..._

_--Farscape_

"Harry, that's awful. _What-_Why would something attack Albus?"

Harry shook his head and took a sip of red wine from his crystal wine glass. He was seated at Ron and Hermione's dining table next to Ginny, relaxing after a full meal of roast beef and potatoes, covered in gravy.

"I was actually hoping somewhere in that head of yours, Hermione, you'd have some idea what these mist-creature things were. I've spent all day at the Ministry after seeing Al and Rose this morning at Hogwarts, talked to the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures and everything... no one has a bloody clue."

It was frustrating as all hell, Harry thought, and Ginny squeezed his hand resting on the clear-glass table reassuringly. She had gone off just as expected this morning, and owled Al straight away. He had replied promptly, Merlins bless his good sense, and assured her that he was fine. Which he was, despite what had happened, and Harry chalked that up to his young age. The younger they were the easier it was to bounce back after the darkness had struck. His life was testament enough to that, although more often of late Harry wondered just how unscathed he was in that regard.

"Sorry, no," Hermione said, and she was truly sorry.

Harry could almost see her eyes flipping through the vast store of knowledge caught in her mind, a library's worth of books and learned facts about everything under the sun. Yet she came up empty with no idea at all as to the nature of Albus's _myst_erious mist-creatures.

"Didn't expect you'd know anything, anyway," Harry said. "This has the feeling of something... new, I suppose you could say. Even Dumbledore's portrait couldn't give me any clues."

"What do you mean something new?" Ron asked. He had been just as livid as Harry after hearing what had happened to Al. He was Al's uncle, after all, and it could have just as easily been Rose drawn from her bed in the middle of the night.

Harry shook his head, and his wife and oldest friends did not say anything as he absently raised a hand to the infamous lightning bolt scar, stroking it softly. "Just a feeling, Ron, just a feeling... something new." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Or something very old."

There was silence at that, and a tension of unspoken fear descended on the warm, candlelit dining room.

"Well," Hermione said. "There's chocolate gateau for dessert, and coffee. Any takers?"

"Please," Ginny said with a smile, and Harry nodded.

Hermione knew Ron well enough to not even ask if he'd be wanting any cake, it was a given. She headed off to the kitchen and Harry, Ginny and Ron moved into the living room.

Harry undid his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, falling down into an armchair by the fireplace as he did. Ginny squeezed in next to him, crossing her leg over his shin and putting her arm around his shoulders.

"You put Aurors at Hogwarts, right?" Ron asked, his concern lacing his words with worry.

"A dozen of them – under Drogin's command."

"Good, good."

"They'll stay there until we have some idea what it is we're dealing with, and if we can expect to see them again any time soon."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, but why Albus? _Why?_"

"He's my son," Harry said simply, and that was enough. What other reason could there be? Harry Potter had had enemies since before he was born. It could just as easily have been James.

"Here we go." Hermione swept into the room on her heels, two plates of sticky chocolate cake resting on her forearms and a fistful of silver forks.

"Thanks, 'Mione," Ron said, digging in with relish and forgetting the unease and tension that seemed to have settled quite firmly in Harry's stomach.

Determined not to let the discomfort he was feeling show, Harry ate his dessert, yet slowly, deep in thought as the conversation spiralled around him.

"We received an owl today with an invitation to Kingsley's birthday celebration – Hogwarts is hosting it a fortnight tomorrow." Ginny stroked slow circles with the tips of her fingers on Harry's neck.

"So did we. I heard a rumour he was retiring," Ron said. "If he does we'll have to make sure some plonker doesn't end up with the top job."

"Out of all the Department Head's I think Harry would have the best shot, if he were nominated." Hermione smiled as Harry jumped out of his thoughts.

"I said _no_ plonkers," Ron quipped.

"Not in a million years would I ever want to be the bloody Minister of Magic. Paperwork's bad enough as it is."

"Half the wizarding world would vote for you," Ginny said. "I think the Aurors would manage without you. There are no Dark Lord's to defeat, hero."

Harry smiled, but it felt more than a little forced. His mind jumped back to Azkaban, to Umbridge, and the suspect that he'd nicknamed the _Shadowman_. There was still not a scrap of physical evidence from Azkaban that even proved the existence of an intruder on the island. But he did exist, Harry knew, even if no one else could believe it, he knew.

_A warning, Potter-boy, a lightning bolt, a key to the Lord Myst. He Who Must Not Be Named walks in the shadows, and no one is safe... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord..._

It was absurd to even suggest that Voldemort was alive and well. His torn soul had been rent asunder by his own hand, and Harry had sent every piece of it screaming into Hell.

Harry had also reluctantly concluded that perhaps Umbridge had not been speaking about him at this point in her insane ramblings. _Potter-boy_. Could that be a clue? A link in some way to Albus? That felt right, but still failed to make any sense at all.

"Harry?" Ginny tapped him on the shoulder. "You've got your Auror-face on. Quit working for a minute, would you."

Harry once again fell out of his thoughts. He found a grin and stepped back into the after-dinner conversation. Hermione had made coffee and Harry took his with just a splash of cream.

All was well, he had thought only a week ago. And now something was stirring the shadows of the past, of Harry's past, throwing him off balance. He had to find who it was and put them down hard before people, innocent people, started to die.

* * *

Stepping onto the clean-cut and spiky grass of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch for the first time in his young life was not something Albus Potter would ever forget. Under the early afternoon sun, on the last day of the weekend, and only a single night since he had been attacked, he stood with James and a few others, gazing up at the impressive stands high above, and the team colour flags of Gryffindor-gold, Slytherin-green, Ravenclaw-blue, and Hufflepuff-yellow blowing softly in the breeze.

Albus was here to try out for the open Seeker position on the Gryffindor team. For the last five years that position had been held by Teddy Lupin – who had finished Hogwarts just a handful of months ago – leaving behind three Gryffindor victories and two runner-up trophies as his legacy to Hogwarts Quidditch.

He stood next to his older brother with his broomstick slung over his shoulder. Both of their broomsticks were of the same design – a design that had finally knocked the _Firebolt_ off the top-spot in the competitive broomstick manufacturing market. His dad had gotten them both a _Windburn_ over the school break, and Albus had high hopes for his performance today. He knew he could only be a reserve player, but that still meant he might get a chance to play this year, and next year if he outflew whoever was Seeker after today he could even be brought forward from reserve.

Also trying out for the position was James' friend Ethan Trevaine and a handful of people from the older years that Albus did not know. He was the only first-year, and that was a little nerve-wracking.

"Right then," the team captain said, a blonde seventh-year named Alison Bennett. She cast her eyes over the group of six hopeful Seekers and nodded at what she saw. "Thanks for coming out. You're here to try-out for the position of Seeker on my team. Both the main position and the reserve position have opened up this year, and the trials will be done in teams of two. You'll be judged against speed, accuracy, time elapsed, and technique. Basically, catch the Snitch as fast as you can – the fastest person to do it is on the team, second fastest in reserve. Now let's split you up."

Albus ended up paired with James, Ethan with a fifth-year girl sporting pigtails, and the other two fourth-years stuck together, all of them eyeing the fluttering golden snitch resting on Alison's palm anxiously.

"You two first," she said, nodding at Ethan and his partner. The snitch sprung to life on her palm and darted away up into the sky. "Give it sixty seconds and you're after it."

Albus tried to follow the snitch and he actually kept an eye on it for about half a minute before its constant ducking and diving evaded his sight and it flew too high. James and all the others fared no better, and that was encouraging.

Ethan shot off the ground as soon as Alison shouted "Go!" and headed straight up a little shakily on one of the school's broomsticks. The girl with the pigtails took off in a completely different direction, across the pitch, her eyes sharp and clear and determined to latch onto the elusive golden snitch.

Had this been a real Quidditch match, with a dozen other players zipping by on their brooms, a roaring crowd and dangerous bludgers spinning through the air fast enough to shatter limbs, then it may have taken Ethan longer that twenty minutes to trap the shiny snitch within his hand.

James whooped and punched his fist into the air as Ethan flew back down to the ground and alighted from the broom. His partner congratulated him unhappily and left the pitch.

"Next up, Felicity and Stephen," Alison said, flipping her hair back over her shoulders and releasing the snitch for a second time. "Wait a minute now…"

Again Albus kept an eye on the snitch for as long as he could, his head snapping back and forth across the sky, before it dashed out of sight, and then the two fourth-years, Felicity and Stephen, were off after it, both of them confident and sure on broomsticks of their own – a cleansweep and a nimbus.

It was over in about the same amount of time it had taken Ethan to snatch the snitch – just over twenty minutes, which meant at the moment Ethan was in the lead for the position, with felicity the fourth-year girl ready in reserve.

"Okay then, we've got the Potter brothers lucky last," Alison said, holding the snitch aloft on her palm in front of both James and Albus. "You catch it in less than nineteen minutes and thirty seconds and you've got the spot, james." She turned and smiled at Albus. "And you, Albus, if you catch it before your brother in the same amount of time you'll play in reserve for the year. Got it?"

Albus nodded, all of a sudden very nervous. James was smiling at him, but it was a fierce and competitive smile. He'd always thought James an excellent flyer, although he'd eat pickled newt-eyes before telling him that, and now he was playing against his brother for a position on the house Quidditch team. A position that wouldn't even guarantee him a match, and James had talked about nothing but playing Quidditch since he got back from his first year at Hogwarts.

_Should I just let him win?_ Albus thought, swinging his leg over his broomstick and hovering a few feet above the hard grass of the pitch. James smirked at him, and mimed falling off his broom as he reached out to grab the snitch.

"Think you can keep up with me, Al?" James laughed.

The _Windburn_ was humming with energy between his legs and Albus knew he'd need to hold on tight for the acceleration. he and James had flown out with dad in the yard back at home over the summer, and over the forest near Ottery St Catchpole, so he knew how to handle the broom.

"You just watch me," Albus said.

"Did you get those height-restricting charms mum put on there removed?" James flew around Albus, just as Alison released the snitch for a third and final time.

Albus scowled. All of a sudden letting James win did not seem like such a reasonable thing to do. No, not at all. He was going to fly his best, and if that meant beating his brother then so be it – Albus knew he could be faster, as he was a lot smaller. He followed the fluttering snitch up into the sky, as did James having fallen silent now, and almost ached to shoot off after it whilst it was still in sight. The small golden ball disappeared behind the Ravenclaw stands and did not reappear out the other side. Gone, and the game was on.

"Go, boys!" Alison cried.

"Ha," albus said, shooting off on his broom fast and sure, with James right alongside. Both of them had last seen the snitch behind the Ravenclaw stands.

It had taken the other two pairs about twenty minutes each to locate and trap the shiny snitch. Ethan and Felicity had done so in a fairly good time, considering the size and elusiveness of the snitch, yet Albus and James were done in five minutes, and it was five minutes of fast-flying, quick turns and several near-misses with the golden ball.

Remembering everything his dad had taught him about Seeking, Albus flew up high fast, and stayed there. James darted around the Ravenclaw stands and shot straight up above them, his eyes scouring the pitch and sky quickly, and also making sure Albus wasn't on to it before him.

Up above the pitch Albus could see Hogwarts in the near-distance, shining in the sun. He looked over to the west at the Forbidden Forest and shuddered as he imagined a river of cool, sparkling mist reaching out from within its dark depths to snatch him from his broom. He turned to watch the pitch from another angle that kept the forest out of view, and was rewarded almost instantly as he caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye.

He almost laughed – it had only been forty-five seconds – as he spied the snitch hovering between the goalposts at the far end of the pitch. He took off at once, the _Windburn_ accelerating to seventy-miles an hour in about four seconds. It took a moment for Albus's stomach to catch up, as he shot past James, and made a play for the snitch.

He thought he heard James swear as his brother turned and shot after him, yet they were riding the same broom and Albus was faster due to his weight, and already in front.

The goalpost hoops reared up quickly, and with a bit of fancy flying Albus swooped _straight through_ the centre hoop, much to the amazement of Alison, Ethan, Felicity and Stephen down on the ground, who raised a cheer as Albus stretched out his hand for the fluttering snitch just an arm's length away…

Only to have it dive away beneath him and shoot _back_ across the pitch straight at James.

It sped away underneath his brother's broom, just as albus came out of a quick nauseating spin in mid-air after a split-second stop and shot off again, back at James who was just falling into the same gut-wrenching manoeuvre.

He caught up to James just as his brother began to accelerate after the glittering snitch, drawing level and nudging shoulders, neck and neck, both riding hard for the spot on the house team.

With the wind howling in his ears and his brother's heavier mass keeping him from inching ahead, Albus didn't dare swerve out and back in – his light build was an advantage, sure, but here at the crux he wouldn't have time to fly past before James's hand closed around the snitch.

So it was with both of their arms outstretched that Albus and James fell upon the snitch, as the goalposts and the hoops from the other side of the pitch reared up before them both. The snitch was so close that Albus could hear its wings _thrumming_ on the air as it tried to elude their grasp.

Albus shuffled forward on his broom, his hand outstretched and actually _brushed_the cool metal of the snitch with the tips of his fingers a moment before James's longer arm came crashing down and snatched the ball out of the air with a triumphant gasp, both boys separating and flying up and away a heartbeat before crashing into the goalposts.

_So close_, Albus thought, flying slowly back to the ground behind his brother and cursing the length of his arm. He landed softly back on the grass and was immediately slapped on the back by Ethan.

"Great flying, AL," he said. "Straight through the hoops, that was wicked!"

"Hey, where's my high-five?" James asked. "I beat the little sprout to the snitch."

"Yeah but Albus lost with style," Ethan said. "And it was down to either of you right at the end there."

"Yeah, but—" James began.

"I agree," Alison Bennett said, sizing both James and Albus up for Quidditch uniforms. "James won the spot fair and square, he caught the snitch in the fastest time, but Albus saw it first and did a lot of good flying up there – I want you in reserve, Albus Potter."

Albus's jaw dropped and James knocked it closed with a wink. "Everything went exactly according to plan," he said.

"Ha, you didn't plan this James – Albus almost had you." Ethan punched his friend in the arm.

"Yeah," Albus agreed, slinging his broom over his shoulder as Alison packed away the snitch and they began to walk off the pitch. "I almost beat you. You planned nothing!"

"Didn't I, Albus, didn't I?" James said wisely, tapping the side of his nose as if hiding a great secret.

"No, you moron, you didn't!"

* * *

Monday morning found Harry at work and down in the depths of the Ministry greeting the new crop of Auror recruits enrolled in the introductory course straight out of Hogwarts. Every year twenty positions were offered by the Department to those with the right NEWTs and those with the right magical ability, and of those twenty maybe five or six would make it through to be apprenticed alongside a full Auror after the first year.

Harry always liked to meet the new recruits before they got started, to let them know that what they were getting into was real, and would be the most challenging thing many of them would ever do. He liked to scare them a little, make sure those that wanted to be here _really_ wanted to be here.

There was something special about this year's recruits, however, or about one of the recruits in particular. As Harry entered the main lecture auditorium deep beneath the London underground, and on the same floor as most of the Department of Mysteries, he was greeted by silence from nineteen individuals dressed for the first time in white trainee-robes, and a mischievous grin from a single recruit with shocking purple hair and eyes so deep and blue that they could have been mistaken for sapphires.

Teddy Lupin.

Harry's godson and the son of Remus Lupin and former Auror Nymphadora Tonks, both casualties of the Battle of Hogwarts alongside so many others…

When Harry did not return his godson's grin Teddy's hair wilted and changed sharply from electric-purple to a more natural brown. He had inherited his mother's metamorphmagus ability. The swift change to his natural hair colour gave Teddy more than a passing resemblance to his father.

In Teddy, Harry could see a young Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin as he must have looked before Pettigrew and Voldemort had torn apart his world, murdered Harry's parents and drove Sirius insane enough to go screaming into Azkaban for twelve godforsaken years.

Harry blinked. He was getting caught in the damned past again. He was still young, far too young to be reminiscing about his youth… yet how many men his age had so much loss behind them, or had had to sacrifice their childhood to destroy a near-immortal madman.

Harry decided then and there that he definitely needed to get away for awhile, somewhere warm and tropical with Ginny. He'd make a holiday his first priority once he wrapped up all the mystery and intrigue surrounding this _Shadowman_, who had made the papers this morning.

It had finally been leaked to the press that there was a breach at Azkaban, and the _Prophet_ had jumped all over that with its usual critique of those in power. Lax procedures, inefficient rostering and an Auror Commander with not enough resolve to keep Azkaban secure, had been some of the finer points of the article. Harry still marvelled at how quickly and how sure the public's opinion could turn against him, more so than ever now.

And in a completely unrelated article that hailed Harry as the _'saviour of the wizarding world'_ it had been reported that his son, Albus Severus Potter, had been involved in some sort of dark creature attack at Hogwarts, and was rumoured to have fought off _'creatures of sheer terror'_ all on his own. That story had been close enough to the truth, all things considered.

Harry found himself on the lecturing platform before an enchanted chalkboard, looking out at the auditorium and the twenty recruits that in no way filled the room to capacity, his expression calm and neutral, and his hands crossed behind his back.

"Good morning," he said. "My name is Commander Harry James Potter, and you young boys and girls are here today because you want to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as the best of the best, as the elite of the wizarding defence force – as one of my Aurors."

He swept his gaze over each and every one of them. More than a few sat up straighter at their desks, and of all twenty Teddy Lupin looking the most uncertain. Harry smiled to himself – his godson had never seen him so serious before.

"You're here because you did well in school, because your NEWTs were good enough to get you through our entrance exam – and only barely at that. This environment will be much like your lessons at Hogwarts would have been. You will have instructors, your professors and perhaps one day fellow Aurors, who will teach you." Here Harry paused. "Any similarity to your school education ends there."

Harry paused again to make sure his words were heard and understood, that they had time to sink in.

"It will be hard, it will break you, and you will want to quit. Only the strong survive this course, only the smart, and the cunning, and the loyal, and the brave. You will learn magic not known to the general public, you will learn strategies of war, you will study Dark magic to know what it is you're up against, and you will learn to use magic in self-defence that can end a person's life…."

Harry allowed what he thought was a comforting, encouraging smile to spread across his face. None of the Auror recruits looked encouraged.

"There will be no room for error, no allowance for a mistake. You live in a time of peace, yet that peace came at a terrible cost – a cost in lives of children just like you who wanted to make a difference, children who _refused_ to be oppressed and subjugated by the Dark Arts… Each and every one of you already has my respect for wanting to be that difference for the next generation. Merlin willing, you will grow old never having to prove yourself in war."

There was scattered applause after he finished and Harry grinned, running a hand back through his hair. Ron had said that his recruits from last year, who were nearing the end of their introduction now, considered him a bit of a hardass. It was something he'd encourage. It did not hurt in the least to be afraid when starting a job like this… fear would always be a big part of defence against the Dark Arts.

"Now then," Harry continued. "So, your first day, is it. What to do with you – I think the Acromentula training course should be a nice warm-up. Is anyone allergic to giant-spider venom?"

Teddy Lupin laughed out loud at the startled expressions on the faces of his fellow recruits, but stifled it quickly with a hard look from Harry.

"That was a joke, folks, the spiders are after Christmas. For now, I think we'll go down the hall and sit in on the recruits who have been through most of this course. Come on, follow me."

Harry led the way out into the torch-lit and winding corridors of the Auror's underground training facility. The twenty recruits followed him and Harry called Teddy up to the front next to him.

"It's good to see you here, Teddy," he whispered, and did smile at his godson now. "I'm proud of you, your mother would be overjoyed and your father, too."

"Thanks, Harry," Teddy replied, his hair shimmering to his house colours – Gryffindor, of course.

"I wasn't joking when I said it would be difficult, however. You'll have to really dig in, kid, and don't expect any favours."

Teddy nodded, taking his godfather seriously. "I will and I don't, Harry."

"Good – you'll make it, Ted, I can see it in your eyes – which, by the way, are lime green. Metamorphing will give you an advantage over the rest of the recruits here – so long as you can control it better than you've been doing so far."

"Just excited," Teddy mumbled, forcing his eyes to calm down to a natural blue. "Weren't you, Harry, back when you started?"

"Teddy, I started in the course the summer after I defeated Voldemort and ended the Dark War. If anything, I was relieved and looking forward to a break when I came here."

"And did you get it?"

Harry shook his head. "I had to work hard, just like everyone else. This is far from fun, believe me. Be prepared for anything."

That Teddy seemed to accept and understand. His facial expressions were so much akin to Remus Lupin that Harry thought he was seeing his old professor's ghost at times, hidden in a face that was more inclined to smile, and that did not carry the same burdens his father had all those years ago.

"I got an owl from Victoire this morning," Teddy said. "She said Albus was involved in something Friday night…"

Harry looked sideways at Teddy as they approached the doors to another one of the lecture rooms, this one slightly smaller. "Did she? He's fine, Teddy, not to worry. And speaking of Victoire, do I need to do a godfather-to-godson chat about the birds and the bees?"

Teddy laughed, looking a little horrified. "I think I've got it covered, Harry."

"You sure? Because I had this whole conversation planned out with some really good symbolism about keeping your wand in its holster."

Teddy snorted. "Is that part of Auror training?"

"You're going to be surprised what's a part of Auror training," Harry said, swinging open the doors to the lecture auditorium containing Ron Weasley and his ten surviving recruits from the original class of twenty.

"Ah, here we go, recruits," Ron said. He stood at the front of the large room down below the rows of raised seats where Harry had done his introduction in the other theatre. "Commander Potter, you've fresh meat I see."

Harry led his twenty new recruits into the room and ordered them to sit down up and above the class below. Most of Ron's recruits looked around with interest at the latest batch straight out of Hogwarts – some of them would probably know one another. Teddy was waving to someone he seemed to recognise.

"Auror Recruit Class of 2017," Harry said. "We've come to observe, if you don't mind, _Professor_ Weasley."

Ron grimaced and there were a few chuckles from his recruits at the word 'professor'. "Not at all," he said. "Although we're not doing any of the exciting spellwork today, unfortunately, just necessary theory."

Harry scanned the enchanted chalkboard behind Ron, taking particular notice of the figures and equations dancing around two chalk figures involved in a duel to the death. One of them was an Auror, the other a dark wizard. The spells were being simplified down to basic equations, tested against magical use and stamina.

"Strategy and Problem Solving from the looks of things," Harry said, taking a seat behind the twenty new recruits so he could watch their reactions throughout the lesson. "I'd say possibly one of the most important things an Auror can know and do."

"You hear that?" Ron said to his own recruits. "Straight from Harry Potter himself. Recruit Cruz, please tell me and the rookies why strategy is important?"

One of the recruits near the front of the room, a young woman with strawberry blonde hair jumped and looked up at Harry quickly before blushing. "Well, it's important," she began, glancing down at her notes and textbook for inspiration. "It's important because one of the best things an Auror can do is think critically, assess a situation and devise the best strategy to counter any attack or defuse a potentially lethal threat."

"Very good," Ron said. "A little two-dimensional, Cruz, and in no way foolproof, yet your basic premise is correct." He paused. "However, strategy can only take you so far – the best plans only ever last a few minutes into any battle, you have to learn to be adaptive, to be fast on your feet, or else strategy is useless."

Ron turned to the chalkboard, and gestured at it with his wand. "Take this riddle for example – the answer is obvious, yet a little strategy is involved in getting there. You'll slap yourselves for not getting this straight away. Listening carefully… _I arrive once in every second, once in every minute, and once in every year. What am I?_"

Harry knew the answer. It was indeed obvious, but involved a little… thinking down, he supposed.

"No one?" Ron said. "Come on, time's ticking away. Should we let the new rookies have a stab at it? Okay, you lot, wow me on your first day."

Harry watched his recruits discuss it amongst themselves, and that was a good sign of teamwork already. Although Teddy looked anxious to solve it all on his own, he was listening to the opinions of the others. Good lad.

"It's the letter 'E'!" one of Ron's group exclaimed in a burst of clarity.

"Oh, Finley," Ron said, walking back and forth on his lecturing platform. "You're the strategist of the group, I see. Okay, boys and girls, try this: _Name just five day's of the week in English without actually saying, or writing, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday._ You've got sixty seconds, starting now!"

Again Harry's group seemed to want to work as whole, which was good, yet it could lead to a single mindset which in the field could get them all killed at once, which was not so good. Ron's group of recruits were working in teams of two and three and ignoring the suggestions they could overhear. A much more reliable tactic, yet the strategy was shaky there, as well.

Ron moved around to his desk and lifted up a cardboard box from behind it, rattling the contents and looking as though he was about to hand out a treat.

"This one's got you all stumped," he said. "Oh, my, my, my… Looks like graduation is cancelled."

"I've got an answer," Teddy spoke up. He rose from his chair with his hair shimmering blue and his eyes swirling gold with excitement. "Five days of the week, sure, there's the day before yesterday, yesterday itself, today, tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow."

"And a point to Mr. Lupin," Ron said. "Not so much logical that riddle as an example on how to look at things a little differently. You can sit down, Mr. Lupin."

"Right," Teddy said, slipping back into his chair. He looked up at Harry with a smile and Harry gave him a wink in return.

"A third riddle, for those looking to impress me: _A man is fifty years old, he is six feet tall, and works in a butcher shop wearing size eleven shoes. What does he weigh?_ Tick-tock, your minute starts now."

There was discussion again – yet no discussion between the new recruits and the old recruits. Understandable, given the fact that Ron's recruits had been training together for nearly twelve months, but it also showed that they weren't using all of the resources available to them.

Harry inwardly smiled to himself as he watched Teddy's hair change in frustration from crimson-red to sky-blue and back to natural-brown before the cycle started off again. The kid really needed some training to get a hold of his ability. His mother could have taught him, if not for Voldemort, but then that was an old sore thought for Harry….

Teddy jumped up again, his eyes blazing. "He weighs meat!" he exclaimed with a small chuckle. "He's a butcher, and he weighs meat."

"Mr. Lupin again," Ron said, placing the box he had been carrying on his desk. "Quite right, of course, you've got your head in the right place for looking at things from a different angle. I wonder how you'd fair at a little problem solving…"

Harry had no idea what Ron had in his mystery box, but he was looking forward to finding out. He had chosen Ron to train the new recruits as he was one of the best Aurors he had, and his understanding of tactics and strategy was second to none. He actually played chess on an international level these days, against the best wizards in the world.

"Now I have a little something of Muggle design in this box of mine," Ron said. "One for each of you – _Wingardium Leviosa_." Several small cubes constructed of black plastic with coloured stickers on them rose from the cardboard box and shot off towards both his and Harry's recruits. "A logic and memory puzzle that requires a lot of brain power to get your head around – so I'll bet a gold galleon against each of you that it'll take you the best part of an hour, if that, to do this. Some people go years without actually figuring this thing out."

"What's it called, Auror Weasley?" one of his recruits asked, turning the colourful cube over in her young hands.

"It's called a Rubik's Cube. A puzzle based on mathematical algorithms. This particular cube is the standard three-by-three, and each side is covered with nine stickers of varying colours. There are six colours in all, and to solve the puzzle you have to match each side with a single colour so that the cube is solid and even. Does everyone have one? Commander Potter, did I miss you?"

"No, you didn't," Harry said, turning the cube in his hands. He shuffled one of the sides around and managed to match three of the green stickers on a single row. He turned it again and managed to undo even that. "Thank you very much, Professor."

"More than welcome, Commander." Ron smirked. "That's right, recruits; you're not only competing against each other but against the famous Harry Potter." Harry scowled. "Compete for my love now. First person to solve the cube gets out of running the obstacle course this afternoon."

For about half a minute nothing could be heard in the room but the clicking and turning of the thirty or so cubes on their swivels. All of the recruits and Harry concentrated hard, turning the Muggle puzzle back and forth, trying to match the colours on each side.

"Just something to think about as you toil away," Ron said. "Another riddle: _The more you take of me, the more you leave behind. What am I?_"

Harry knew the answer to that one, and thought about speaking up but was beaten to it.

"Time," a recruit on the far side of the lecture theatre said, down at the front. "The answer to that is time."

The recruit also held in his hand, above his hand, a completed Rubik's cube, all the colours matching. It had only taken him about forty seconds.

"Recruit Crichton," Ron said, gesturing for the completed cube. Crichton tossed it to him and Ron examined it from all sides. "Well I never, you get lucky or have you done this before?"

Crichton laughed – he was as young as the rest, only a year out of Hogwarts. "It's a simple algorithm, Auror Weasley, based on a three dimensional mathematical representation of three. And that riddle was your easiest yet." He had a smiling face, with laughter lines around his eyes. "You owe me thirty galleons – thirty-one, including Commander Potter – looks like it's your shout at _The Leaky Cauldron_ tonight."

Ron sighed and gazed up at Harry, who was trying not to laugh himself. Teddy Lupin looked disgruntled that he had been unable to solve the cube or the riddle this time, and turned it uselessly in his hands a few times before giving up.

"He's got you, Auror Weasley. Never underestimate an adversary, they may have skills and abilities of which you know nothing."

"Not really, sir," Recruit Crichton replied, glancing up at Harry. He wore a bandana to keep his long, dark bangs out of his eyes – eyes which danced with barely suppressed mirth. "I grew up with one of those things – my older sister is a Muggle Mathematics teacher, too, so that helped."

"Like I said," Harry replied. "Skills and abilities, and unexpected _resources_, that will unmake even the best strategy. Well done, recruit."

"Aye, well done," Ron grumbled.

Harry excused himself about ten minutes later, leaving his new recruits in Ron's capable hands. They would run the obstacle course with the older group that afternoon, and learn just how unfit they were. Running the course morning, noon, and night would soon set them all straight there.

He was proud of the way Teddy had answered the riddles, how quickly he had reacted – he would definitely be the recruit to watch this year, if his performance continued like that. And Ron's recruit, Crichton, would definitely make it through graduation if the rest of his work was as good as his display today.

Harry recalled that Crichton had been the one who had disarmed a full-Auror in the field exercises at Dover a few days ago – disarmed him right over the edge of the White Cliffs. An honest mistake, and it was only Crichton's quick wand work that had saved Auror Wilkes from shattering against the rocks below, too, so all's well that ends well. That kid had the makings of a great Auror.

Back up in his office the memos had piled up considerably and Harry turned his attention to them with a sigh. He had also received a report from Drogin at Hogwarts, stating for the second time now that everything had been quiet and all-clear during the night, not a sign of any mist or unknown Dark creatures. The twelve Aurors he had assigned patrolled the grounds and the border of the Forbidden Forest from dusk till dawn, and not a thing was out of place.

That was a good thing and a bad thing, Harry supposed. He needed more to go on if this investigation into the Azkaban breach was going to get off the ground. So far there was nothing but speculation and hearsay. None of the Ministry's security analysts could say with any degree of certainty how someone could bypass the countless wards settled over Azkaban prison. That, if nothing else, reluctantly impressed Harry. The audacity of it reminded him of Sirius Black, all those years ago.

For the next few hours Harry dealt with his paperwork and sent off a few owls requesting information from a few of the more notable private security specialists in the wizarding world _outside_ of the Ministry. He had to know how Azkaban could be breached, because nothing was stopping the _Shadowman_ from doing it again. He also sent an owl to a friend he had in the Muggle world of police forensics – this was a personal lead of his own he wanted to follow, and it had to do with the blood that flowed through his son's veins – his own veins. Blood that had repelled creature's of Dark magic.

Maggie King was a blood and DNA forensic scientist with Scotland Yard, and one of Harry's contacts in the Muggle policing forces. That agreement between the Ministry and the Muggle Prime Minister's government was known only to a few. It was a deal Harry had insisted Kingsley make once he had been promoted to the Head of Department some ten years ago now. It had been a complex and almost hostile negotiation at the time, but basically the deal meant Harry could call on muggle resources when necessary to help catch wizards breaching the Statute of Secrecy, and in turn two Aurors were on call at Scotland Yard to deal with anything… less than normal to a Muggle.

It was a groundbreaking agreement, and perhaps the first step toward integrating the magical world into the muggle world. Hermione even had a name for the adapted Muggle technology the deal had birthed.

"Technomancy," she had called it, her eyes alight with dozens of possibilities. Muggle technology was advancing so quickly this century that fairly soon it was believed they would be able to put a man on the planet Mars. Which was simply extraordinary – _beyond_ extraordinary. And integrating magic into some of their weapons and fuel devices was a big leap forward in Wizard-Muggle relations.

Of course, all weapons were top-secret and only Harry had full access to that particular project running down in the Department of Mysteries. Muggle firearms had so far been adapted quite usefully and one day soon they would probably be a part of the standard Auror's field equipment.

Harry had requested to see Maggie King about a blood specimen – his own blood – later in the week. He was anticipating the results to be either wholly normal, or something unexpected. There was a lot of magic in his veins, after all.

"I need a break," Harry said to himself, thinking about getting some time in down at the wand range and practicing a few of the rougher spells from his offensive arsenal. He had been practicing using dual wands, a technique rarely used due to the drain on spell power and effectiveness – but he'd made progress getting around that.

He didn't think about it often, but Harry knew that no one had bested him in a duel since his quest for the Deathly Hallows all those years ago. And even though he was Head of the Department, and didn't see as much field work as he used to, duelling was not a skill he was about to let get rusty.

Filing away the reports he'd managed to write and shuffling a load of memos into his _Out_ tray, Harry followed the small fluttering scraps of parchment out of his office and over to the golden-grilled elevators that would take him back down to the training facility.

Inside the lift, he twisted his wrist and his old wand in the holster strapped to his forearm leapt forward into his hand, eager to perform some high-level offensive spells down at the wand range.

The grille on the elevator sprang open and the friendly, female voice announced that he had arrived on the right level, the Department of Mysteries. Harry stepped out onto the cool marble floor tiles and gasped as a rush of freezing air shivered down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck rose covered in frost.

_Dark magic_, he thought in the split-second between stepping out of the lift, and seeing the impossible.

There was a hunched and pale figure standing just a few feet away, a figure holding a wand pointed straight at Harry's heart.

"_Avada Kedavra_," Dolores Umbridge said, her face swollen and grey, and her eyes empty of anything, of all life, save a swirling, dreadful _mist_.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Oh, a cliffhanger, don't hate me... read? review! Next chapter is already underway, folks. Cheers,_

_joe_


	9. Chapter 7: Long Road To Ruin

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine, all belongs to Harry Potter franchise._

_**A/N:**__ Thanks for reading, please review. Chapter title inspired by the Foo Fighters. Things are starting to happen in this story now – exciting, action-type things. Enjoy._

* * *

_**Chapter 7: Long Road To Ruin**_

_It's not like I drifted here on the tides of fate.  
I'm here because I chose to be here.  
Destiny had nothing to do with it!_

_--Irvine Kinneas_

Faced with the sparkling green light of death, Harry did quite possibly the only sensible thing in his situation and fell down onto his arse. Boy Who Lived he might be, yet it had been a long while since he had put the _Avada Kedavra_ to the test.

The curse _roared_ over his head and fierce, biting tendrils of light, vicious sparks, brushed the very tips of his unruly hair as Harry hit the marble floor tiles with a grunt, tightening his grip on his wand.

Umbridge's death curse slammed into the interior of the golden-grilled elevator hard, and exploded with all the wrath and hate necessary to fire such a curse in the first place. The lift erupted in green flames, the metal groaned as it twisted and snapped, and Harry rolled away to the right as the solid bars of the grille came tumbling down at his head, torn straight from their holdings and alight with green flame.

He rolled onto his knees and from his knees straight up, his wand raised and pointed straight at—

"_Avada_ _Kedavra!_"

Ah, hell, that was unnaturally quick spell work – especially for a dead woman.

Harry ducked away again, felt the cold brush of death again, and was showered in dust and chunks of plaster and marble as the wall behind him exploded, the green flames clawing along the wall and up across the ceiling. For a terrible moment Harry stood bathed in the emerald light, yet he took the offensive a heartbeat later, as this time he had remained on his feet.

"_Vestic!_" he said, and whilst technically Dark magic, the curse was an authorised means of using lethal force against an adversary. It was a killing curse, although unlike the _Avada Kedavra_, it could be blocked with a shield charm.

A thick and weighty purple light erupted from the tip of Harry's old wand and swirled through the air, striking Umbridge in her shoulder and shoving her back half a dozen paces until she slumped and fell, the wand in her hand clattering away.

Not taking any chances, Harry summoned the fallen wand and shoved it into his pocket, glaring down at the woman who had killed herself not a week ago in her cell on Azkaban Island. Did she just twitch? Impossible – _Vestic_ stopped the heart beating and cut off all oxygen to the brain. Then again, how was a dead woman attempting to assassinate him at all? This was certainly no Inferius.

And that wasn't even the most disturbing thing, really. That was...

Well, the first thing Harry noticed was that Umbridge was naked, not wearing a stitch of clothing. And that was nearly enough to make him sick, especially as her body had been stitched up after the autopsy by the Unspeakables, and was well on its way through the first stages of decomposition.

Bloated and flabby, reeking of death and Dark magic, Dolores Umbridge had seen better days.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Harry whispered. A third arrow aimed at his heart? Another message from his faceless foe?

There were alarms going off in the distance, and it would only take a few moments for his Aurors to arrive, alerted by the Dark magic detectors in the Ministry that some _serious_ Darkness had been conjured here today.

Umbridge's corpse moved.

Harry took a wary step back. The green flames eating away at the lift and walls were dying down, the magic in the curse no longer able to keep the fires burning without some sort of fuel – namely wood or fabric – and Harry stood in its failing light, alongside the more natural orange-fire torches.

Slowly but surely Umbridge rose back to her feet. It was her eyes that Harry concentrated on, keeping his wand at the ready and a blasting curse on the tip of his tongue. Her eyes were white and grey – or rather, white with tendrils of faint, glowing grey mist rushing through them, swirling faster and faster.

_Mist_, Harry thought. "_Shadowman_," he said.

Umbridge cocked her head to the side and the flesh around her bloated neck tore as she eyed Harry through the mist. Then she began to laugh, baring her bloody teeth and blackened gums as if she were about to bite.

"It will never be over... Harry... not for you."

That was Umbridge's voice, simpering and flowery, and a week of death had only given it a slight, decayed croak. Yet Harry heard something else beneath that voice, something darker, something _laughing_ at him.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. _And WHAT magic is this?_ He had just noticed that Umbridge's hands were covered with blood, and not all of it was dry. Whose wand did he have in his pocket? "Tell me how you've done this!"

"Live... to fight another... day..." Umbridge giggled. "A lot more... fun... to come your way..."

And as if a pair of invisible hands grasped the side of her head and twisted, Umbridge's neck snapped completely, her head turning a full circle with a series of sickening cracks and the rough, nauseating sound of flesh tearing from bone. The glowing light in her eyes faded, the mist dying away. Her head hit the marble tiles and rolled to rest at Harry's feet before her body slumped back down, dead a week and looking it.

Ron found Harry first, Teddy Lupin at his side and all thirty of the recruits, new and old, trailing behind them both. Drawn by the wailing alarm, and only a few corridors away in the lecture theatres, Ron arrived with his wand drawn to find Harry kneeling down on his ankles over the head of Dolores Umbridge.

Next to him Teddy paled, his hair turning white. He raised a hand to his mouth and turned away before he was sick.

"Harry?"

"Hello, Ron," Harry said without looking up. With his thumb and forefinger he opened Umbridge's eyes wide, first one then the other, looking for any trace of the mist. He could see her pupils again now. They were glazed and faint – not at all out of the ordinary.

"What happened?"

"Umbridge here attacked me, I disarmed her, and then her head fell off."

Ron was looking more than a little green. He ushered his recruits back, away from the crime scene. It was a futile gesture, Harry knew, as there would be no physical evidence of his _Shadowman_ here. He wasn't that lucky and, once again, it seemed Umbridge had been possessed from afar.

The misty substance in her eyes had been a clue – another link if he needed one between what had happened on Azkaban and what had happened to Albus at Hogwarts, and now what had happened deep within the Ministry, at the Department of Mysteries no less. The _Shadowman_ had, in the space of a week, bypassed all the defences and wards of what were arguably the three most secure buildings in the wizarding world.

Harry felt like hitting something – hard. He was already so many steps behind, and this just set him back even further. The questions had been piling up for a week, and now the bodies were starting to as well.

And he had no answers to either problem.

* * *

Albus's second week at Hogwarts could be considered somewhat relaxing compared to the first. Still getting used to the ancient castle and its ways, he, Frank, Gary, Rose and Hannah often got lost on their way to lessons, even on their way to the Great Hall and back to Gryffindor Tower.

It sometimes seemed as if entire corridors moved, or a staircase led somewhere different when used a second time. Doors were not doors, portraits hid secret passageways, and one never knew when a trick step in the staircases was going to change places. All in all, it was very confusing.

Word spread fast that James was the new Gryffindor Seeker. Albus had been informed by Alison Bennett, the Captain, that he would be training twice a week with the house team, Monday and Thursday, out at the pitch on his _Windburn._ The first game of the season was just after Halloween, against Ravenclaw. He knew he didn't have a real chance to play, as James was fighting fit and ready to go, but it would be exciting... in front of the whole school... to catch the Snitch and win the match. He wad daydreaming about that a lot.

There had been no sign of the mist creatures, and Albus was actually managing to fall asleep at a reasonable hour after a few nights of staying up late, reading his Defence Against the Dark Arts book and just making sure now and again that all the windows remained closed and latched.

Hagrid had told him that none of the creatures in the forest had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary the night he was attacked, which was strange considering that a fair swath of the forest had been drowning in the eerie glowing fog. But then the whole bloody thing was strange. His mum was owling him at least once a day and Albus was getting a little tired of that. He _was_ old enough to attend Hogwarts now, and didn't need checking up on every single day.

On Wednesday after Charms, Albus, Frank and Gary were heading down through the castle for lunch, talking excitedly about the new charm they had learnt for casting fire from their wands. _Incendio_. Albus had been the only one who had managed to produce more than a few small sparks – he had set his notes of parchment well and truly ablaze – and had earned Gryffindor five house points for doing so.

Professor Flitwick had even commented that he had a natural affinity with charms work, as so far he was way ahead of everyone else in terms of actually casting the charms. Sometimes it even worked when he didn't get the wand movements just right, although the casting wasn't as powerful.

Albus had asked why it sometimes still worked even though his wand movements weren't always perfect.

"Magic can evolve, sometimes," Flitwick had said, shrugging his tiny shoulders. "And there is always a little leeway. The magic adapts to you, to your style. Why, I recall young Teddy Lupin had the same grasp on charms as you do, Mr. Potter. He was casting fourth-year spells with more confidence than most halfway through his first-year. Very bright, very bright that lad."

Albus had been glad to see that Frank had had his bandages and sling removed that morning. His arm was still sore, he said, and an ugly purple-yellow bruise stretched from his elbow down to his wrist, but he could use it again.

"No more adventures for me," he had said quite sincerely.

Gary had slapped Albus on the back and said not to worry, he'd be along on the next one. Albus assured him that if adventure arose unexpectedly again, he'd also be sitting it out. Gary could go play in the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night with crimson-eyed monsters all on his own.

Albus shivered, and shoved the memory of that calm, cool fog from his mind. All the excitement he wanted now was over the wide selection of food in the Great Hall. As he and his friends hurried around a bend in the corridor from the Charms rooms, they almost bumped into another Gryffindor heading the same way. The Head Girl, no less, and someone Albus had met before.

"Hello, Victoire," he said, as Gary and Frank ran ahead, hungry for lunch.

"Albus," the seventh-year Gryffindor replied. She stood tall and proud, yet was on her own. "How are you today?"

Albus had known Victoire for as long as he could remember. She was the daughter of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour-Weasley. His dad had told him that her name was French for 'Victory', as she had been born in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, one year to the day. He also knew she was very pretty, just like her mother, but such things did not really matter to Albus just yet.

"I'm good, just had Charms. Hey what happened to your eye?"

Her long blonde hair had been drawn like a curtain over the side of her cute, angular face, covering the bruising around her eye. It looked as if someone had punched her, but that was ridiculous. Victoire was friends with everyone.

"Ah," she said, giggling. There was a cultured tone to her voice, no doubt from her mother's side. "This happened last night – I fell in my dormitory, if you must know, and hit my face on the corner of my trunk."

Albus winced. "Ouch. Does it hurt?"

"A little," she said, nearly whispered. "But I grew up with two brothers, so this is nothing. I set a vanishing potion to brew this morning in the dungeons. It should be ready by now."

"That's good." Albus was ready to run ahead and catch up to Gary and Frank. If he didn't get to the Great Hall fast enough then those two would make sure personally that all the best sandwich meat was eaten. He was about to say his goodbyes to Victoire but paused, remembering something James had said before getting on the Hogwarts Express a week ago. Victoire and Teddy had been snogging! He grinned. "So how's Teddy?" he asked.

Victoire flinched, her eyes narrowing for just a moment before the good-natured smile returned to her face. "He is fine," she said, and ruffled his unruly hair. Why did everyone always want to do that? "Owled me just yesterday. He is training to be an Auror with your father."

"Really?" That was news to Albus. They had reached the Entrance Hall, and the doors to the Great Hall were wide open. Teddy as an Auror. "That sounds wicked."

"Yes," Victoire agreed, turning toward the corridors that led down to the dungeons and Professor Slughorn's potion laboratories. "Run along now, Albus. I will see you later."

"Okay. Bye, Victoire."

Albus headed into the Great Hall to grab himself some lunch. He had Defence Against the Dark Arts next period, his favourite lesson, and was hoping Professor Drogin would be setting another quiz, and therefore another chance for house points. He was getting pretty popular with all the other Gryffindors, as his personal house-point tally stacked up.

He'd even managed to get fifty on the _weekend_ from Neville, for telling him straight away what had happened in the forest. That was more than anyone else so far!

* * *

Harry had a special access card that got him through the security at New Scotland Yard. Located in a twenty-storey office block near the Houses of Parliament along Broadway and Victoria Street in Westminster, The Yard had some of the best security the Muggle world could manage. It was right next to the Ministry of Defence, as well.

It was a high priority access-all-areas card. His immobile photograph sat on the tag next to a brief description – _name, occupation, rank_ – and a large red '1', which meant to the average person not to ask the bearer any questions.

According to his tag Harry was _Harry Potter, Specialist Consultant for the Ministry of Defence_. Only a handful of people in this building knew the truth about his consultant status. It was indeed special – some would say _magical_.

Maggie King was one of those people. She was a DNA and crime scene analyst specialising in blood-spatter and infectious blood-transmitted contagions. Harry had worked with her more than once, when the two Aurors who were stationed at Scotland Yard called in for back-up.

That did not happen often, but when, say, a dragon had been sighted in the skies over London, Harry brought in the full force of his Department hard and fast. That was a few years ago, and it had escaped from the reserve in Romania – a disgruntled employee had actually set the bloody thing loose. Three Muggles had become lunch for the beast, unfortunately, before it could be caught and destroyed. And that single incident had done more damage to the Statute of Secrecy than Voldemort ever had during his time.

Muggle technology was a lot more sophisticated these days. They had satellites in space that had locked on to the dragon as if it were an inter-continental ballistic missile, and live feeds to what they called the internet, a world wide network of computers that had tracked the dragon's progress through London with near crystal-clear clarity, streaming real time footage of the magical creature all across the planet.

It had taken a lot of spin and pull with the Muggle government to knock it off as an elaborate hoax. And the footage still popped up now and again on the conspiracy sites, according to the Department of International Muggle Relations.

And it was because of Muggle technology that Harry was here today, at Scotland Yard. Magic could only do so much, and it couldn't do half of what the Muggles could when it came to analysing samples taken from a crime scene. The sample Harry wanted tested hadn't technically come from the scene of a crime, but he was willing to bet his weight in galleons the results were going to be interesting nevertheless.

"Good morning, Maggie," Harry said. He had dressed himself in a simple Muggle suit – black trousers, black jacket, black shoes, and underneath a white shirt. Over the top of that he wore a regulation blue smock, which was required of all persons when entering the 'clean' labs below the Scotland Yard building.

A woman with curly brown hair, sitting at a very clean clear-glass laboratory table, looked up from examining a small Petri dish of some greenish substance, and pulled down the mask covering her mouth and nose. All around her shiny machines whirred and groaned almost silently, and a dozen computer monitors blipped and beeped, all incomprehensible to Harry.

"Harry Potter," Maggie King said. "I always look forward to the owl delivering a note from you."

Harry smiled. He thought Maggie looked older, just around the eyes. Small wrinkles, a pinched look, maybe she was just a little tired and run down. After all, she wasn't that old at twenty-nine. Harry himself was heading for forty in the next few years, and that was a frightening thought.

"Yeah, I'm working on a murder investigation – a convict in my custody was... beheaded. Need a little help from you and your machines."

Maggie stood up. "Well, that's what I'm here for – although you lose points for failing to make polite conversation with a girl before jumping straight into all this beheading business, Harry."

Harry raised his hands. "Ha, sorry. Got little else on my mind these days. How are the kids?"

"There we are," Maggie said, removing the white gloves from her hands and tossing them in a bin marked 'Hazardous Waste'. "Just fine, just fine. Little Michael started school last week. He's already getting into so much trouble – just like his father. And yours?"

"My youngest son started school, too, and has been up to a little mischief of his own."

"Magic school?" Maggie asked quietly, glancing around her empty lab, yet there was no one else in the room save Harry. Very few people had access this far and to such expensive investigative equipment.

Harry tapped the side of his nose and winked. "No such thing as magic, is there?"

"Nope, just owls delivering letters, dragons flying through the skies over London..."

"Haven't a clue what you're talking about," Harry said with a shrug. He glanced around the room, having the strangest feeling that something was out of place.

"No, of course not." Maggie laughed, it sounded a little out of place. Harry saw her hand resting against the glass table was shaking a little.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked. She did look a little pale, more than just tired.

"Oh yes, I'm fine, just caught up in a few nasty cases of my own – lots of blood, and lots of mess. What can I do to help you with yours?"

Thinking it a little odd that Maggie, a blood-splatter analyst, felt squeamish around blood, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a small vial of crimson liquid stoppered with a cork. He'd drawn it himself from the vein in his arm before setting out.

"I need you to take a look at this," he said.

"Blood, well, you've come to the right place. Anything in particular I'm looking for?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, to tell you the truth. There's a lot of explaining to do, but basically when this blood came into contact with certain... creatures, it destroyed them. I need to know why, if it's something your machines can tell me."

Maggie hesitated in taking the vial. "Is it dangerous?"

"No, not to you. I'm just looking for anything out of place, for anything you wouldn't find in your normal, everyday blood."

"Okay, I'll run it through the full work-up. Takes about ten minutes. Help yourself to some coffee." She gestured to the table just by the sealed glass door. A pot of hot coffee sat on a burner, steaming nicely.

Harry nodded and wandered over, as Maggie began to turn on machines and uncorked his vial of blood. There was a stack of cheap Styrofoam cups next to the pot. Harry filled one with good strong coffee, stirring in a few sugars and a bit of milk.

He took a sip – it wasn't half bad.

There was a tinkling sound of thin glass breaking and Harry turned around to see the vial he had brought shattered on the cool white floor. His blood was a stark contrast to the almost shining-white floor, splattered across it.

"Oops," Maggie said, giggling high and nervous. "I'm having a clumsy day. Lucky I got some in the dish before I dropped it."

"Ah, it happens," Harry said, sipping his coffee. Something wasn't right... "Here, I'll clean it up."

"No, its okay – just enjoy your coffee. There are clean up procedures. I'll put this sample in the machine then take care of it."

Harry shrugged.

By the time Maggie had run Harry's blood sample into the machine, and then cleaned and disinfected the floor, using a special chemical and about a dozen paper towels, dumping it all in the 'Hazardous Waste' bin, the computers had done whatever it was they did, and the results popped up on Maggie's personal laptop computer at her desk.

"Here we go," she said.

Harry yawned, took the last swig of his coffee and stepped back over to the table, glancing down at the computer screen. He knew very little about all this technology, but then that's why he had Maggie.

"How did it get from there to here?" he asked, pointing at the machine his blood sample had gone in to.

"Wireless transfer," Maggie said, smiling. "Back in the day, when we would've just been kids, results like this took hours and sometimes days."

Harry nodded. His head felt heavy, and he was getting a headache. He swallowed, shaking away the discomfort. "And what do they say?"

Maggie tapped a few keys on her computer and jumped through a dozen incomprehensible screens, frowning at what she saw. There was a graph and several large spikes, a chart with a severe, harsh red line cutting up through the centre, and a list of numbers next to words Harry thought even Hermione would have trouble pronouncing.

"Where did you say you got this sample from?" she asked carefully.

"I didn't," Harry replied, blinking his eyes rapidly – they were watering. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well..." Maggie began, squinting at the laptop through her glasses. "I ran a full diagnostic for everything from allergies to cancer, and everything came back negative. I can tell you this sample belongs to a male, about forty years old – and he's as healthy as a horse. All the cells, all the compounds are _way_ above normal, but mostly in a good way. The platelet count is off the charts!"

Harry swallowed, feeling flushed. "Platelets?" he asked.

"Very small cells in the blood. Their main role is to clump together at places where injury to blood vessels has occurred. They are what causes blood to clot. A high count, such as in this sample, is actually _very_ dangerous."

"How so?"

"High numbers of platelets make a person more vulnerable to internal clotting. And are a sure sign of a bone morrow affliction such as leukaemia, or cancer. But this test came back negative for all disease. Very strange... unheard of, actually. Where _did_ this come from?"

Harry shook his head. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually, and this is weirder than anything else." Maggie tabbed through a few pages on the computer and came to a breakdown screen. "All of this is normal," she said, gesturing to the first half of the page. "It's the only thing that is. These are the erythrocytes – red blood cells – they contain haemoglobin and are responsible for distributing oxygen through the body. That's well within normal range. However, the leukocytes are much the same way as the thrombocytes—"

Harry raised his hand. He was feeling a little dizzy... "Forgive me, trombonesites?"

"No, _thrombocytes_ – another word for the platelets that cause clotting, coagulation. It's the leukocytes that are the strangest of all, however."

"How so?"

"Leukocytes are white blood cells – they are part of the immune system and destroy and remove old or aberrant cells and cellular debris, as well as attack infectious pathogens and foreign substances. The cancer of leukocytes _is_ what we know as leukaemia."

"Right..."

"The leukocyte count in this sample is simply impossible. They would have had to have been genetically integrated into the blood – these levels aren't found in nature."

Harry was feeling sick to his stomach. "And you're saying they attack outside, foreign substances?"

"Yes, pathogens – bacteria and such."

"W-what colour are they... you know, in the blood?"

Maggie was sweating, and biting her bottom lip. She kept glancing over to her machines as if assuring herself they were still there. "Harry..." she began, shaking her head. She sighed. "Well, the red blood cells usually outnumber the white, by about ten times as much, but if you remove them from the plasma then you're left with something – the leukocytes and the thrombocytes – which is straw-yellow in colour, almost golden."

Harry closed his eyes as the world spun. He thought of his conversation with Albus in McGonagall's office:

"_Your blood?" Harry said sharply, as Albus spoke of punching a mist-creature and having it explode in a fountain of golden sparks. "You're sure, Al, your blood was glowing?"_

_Albus nodded quickly, toward the dried blood that stained his hands from the half a dozen cuts and scrapes all over his arms. "Only it didn't work for Frank, just me."_

He opened his eyes – Maggie was speaking, as if over a great distance, her voice echoing in his ears. "Harry?" she said. "Harry? Are you okay?"

"I... I've just got one more question," he said, shaking his head and trying to clear the dizziness. "Maggie, please tell me what you put in the coffee?"

She flinched as if struck and all the blood drained from her face so fast that Harry thought she might faint. Tears that had been barely concealed since she arrived fell from her eyes and down her cheeks.

"Harry, I'm so sorry—"

He should have realised that a whole pot of coffee was a little much for just one person, and placed conveniently in a room that was to be kept clean and sterile. Maggie's eyes went wide and Harry spun, following her gaze and twisting his wrist, shooting his wand into his hand from the holster strapped to his forearm.

In the corner of the room alongside the blood analysing machines a figure emerged from underneath an invisibility cloak, a figure in dark robes and a white, skull-like mask. With a wand trained on Harry's heart, the masked man snarled and cried:

"_Narvarica!"_

His movements slowed and his mind foggy from whatever poison had been in the coffee, Harry didn't get out of the way in time. A jet of aqua-green light slammed into his left shoulder as Maggie screamed and he was thrown _back_ over her desk, smashing her computer and overturning the heavy glass table with his weight.

Harry landed with a grunt in a mess of wires and shattered glass. The curse that hit his shoulder was Dark magic, he knew, and already he could feel it eating away through his flesh. It would bore a hole straight through his shoulder and out the other side, and he'd feel every bite of it.

_It's a Death Eater!_ His mind was screaming at him – in pain and urgency. There was a man dressed as a Death Eater trying to kill him, he had an unknown poison in his system, and a Dark magic curse was eating through his shoulder.

Harry could not remember the last time he had been so pissed off.

He rose to his feet in a mess of wires and computer cords, eyes focused and narrowed dangerously. Blood had soaked through his nice white dress shirt from his shoulder, ruining his Muggle suit.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_Taking no prisoners,_ Harry thought.

Maggie King's lab was not that big – the distance between Harry and the unknown Death Eater was barely twenty-five feet. Yet even weakened by the coffee and the curse, Harry spun to the side, twirling his hand and firing off a stunning spell non-verbally, as for the third time that week the Killing Curse roared past him, powering into a load of expensive equipment and dousing the pale light of the room in cold emerald flame.

Maggie King was shrieking and trying to crawl away under the coffee table. She was no threat, whimpering as her lab was destroyed and two wizards duelled to the death before her. She'd lost her shoes, and her black stockings were torn in half a dozen places from the glass on the floor.

The Death Eater side-stepped Harry's stunner and it dissipated on the wall behind him harmlessly. _"Aros Cri!"_

_Aw hell..._ Harry thought, as six metallic arrows, as hard as iron, shot out of the Death Eater's wand in bursts of purple light and cut through the air towards him.

Quick on his feet, Harry leapt to the left, the whole world spinning in his head from the dizzying poison in his veins, and cast muttered heating charms, small parcels of heat, in the air before him.

"_Incendio!_" he cried, and set the air ablaze.

The space between Harry and the Death Eater became as hot as a furnace as the heating charms ignited. A ball of flame roared outwards and Harry stepped back to save his eyebrows. In the heart of the split-second inferno the metal arrows were blasted with fire and began to melt in mid-air, globules of liquid-metal dripping harmlessly to the ground.

Only the first arrow made it through, as Harry's furnace exhausted its supply of air and the fireball dissipated. He fell to one knee as the arrow clipped him in the meat of his thigh, only a few inches away from making sure he never had another baby.

He gasped for a breath as the fire had absorbed most of the oxygen in the room, and as he did he thought to hell with it – he'd question the next bastard who came along and tried to kill him. _This_ Death Eater was going down hard – no more friendly stunning spells.

Harry dropped his wand as the fire and smoke began to clear and reached under the dirtied blue smock, into his jacket, and withdrew from a holster strapped around his burning shoulder one of the first prototypes of the Technomancy project being headed by the Department of Mysteries.

A Muggle firearm, suitably modified with a charged crystal core. He had only fired off a few rounds down at the wand range – but the 9mm semi-automatic pistol was perhaps a shining example of the next stage in the revolution of the wizarding world. A revolution Harry himself had inspired by destroying Voldemort.

He gripped the handle hard. The weapon was coated in blood from his shoulder. He did not wait for a clear shot as the smoke dissipated through the air vents above. He pulled the trigger six times, and each time a burst of three small spheres of hard light erupted from the muzzle of the weapon with a deafening roar. Harry strafed the whole back wall, glowing bullets thumping into the whirring machines and glass, and when the smoke cleared he saw the Death Eater lying in a pool of his own blood, sucking in harsh and ragged breaths whilst trying to stop his stomach from falling out of the large hole in his gut.

Harry holstered the gun and picked up his wand. Muttering a few small healing charms, the best he knew, he managed to slow the spread of the Narvarica curse, though not stop it entirely. He'd need a Healer for that. The arrow buried in his leg was burning almost as fiercely as his shoulder, and black spots were dancing before his eyes. He managed to stand, and limped across the room using the blood analysing machine for support.

"_Accio mask_," he whispered, standing above the fallen Death Eater.

The large man glaring up at him, laughing harshly and gurgling blood, was a man Harry had met before, more than once. He had been a lot more muscle than fat back then, and his hair had been more blond than grey. This man had fought in both the Battle of the Tower, where Dumbledore fell, and the Battle of Hogwarts, where his master fell.

"Thorfinn Rowle," Harry said, gritting his teeth. "I've been looking for you for nineteen years."

Rowle spat at Harry – blood and saliva – his words broken and speared with pain. "Old powers are returning, Potter... and old enemies..." He laughed, insane and dying. "You're... going to die..."

"Voldemort said the same thing, once upon a time."

"Ah... you fear the Dark Lord..."

Harry wavered, nearly passing out. "I don't fear the dead."

"This is only the beginning... Harry Potter..." Rowle chuckled as he died, warm blood coating his teeth and running down the sides of his face. "Your children will die... He will make your blood-traitor of a wife _scream_... and you will beg for death before the end... Oh yes, you will_ beg_."

Harry watched Thorfinn Rowle die and scratched him off the wanted list in his mind. In no fit state to contemplate what one of the last few Death Eaters at large had said, he turned away from the bloodied corpse and towards Maggie King.

Her laboratory was in ruins – and green flames still licked the far wall. Broken glass and destroyed equipment littered the floor, and her computers sparked and frazzled – dead to rights. There was a thick, black scorch mark on the roof from Harry's improvised fireball. The acrid smell of burning copper, sharp electricity, hung heavy in the air.

"Maggie..." Harry said. His shoulder was _screaming_, and the amount of blood soaking his trousers led him to believe that the arrow may have nicked an artery. "I don't want to ask again – what was in that coffee?"

Still cowering under the coffee table, which had survived the duel intact, Maggie edged forward, holding her arms against her stomach and shaking uncontrollably. She opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to speak and gaping like a fish.

"_MAGGIE!"_ Harry roared. Everything was hazy, why was the world turning around and around in his head?

"A-a non-lethal nerve agent," she said, blurting it out as fast as she could. "Three-Benzilate... I-it smooths muscle movement, incapacitates the body and causes confusion. There was enough in the coffee to put you out straight away. I-I don't know why you're still standing."

Harry nodded. He was done here then – so long as the drug wasn't going to kill him, although he'd let the Healers decide that. He turned to leave, preparing to Apparate.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm _so_ sorry. He knew you were coming here today. He said he'd kill my children. _He hurt me_. Oh god, I'm sorry..."

Harry had been lucky today. He knew that. A fair amount of skill had brought him through the fight alive, but a sheer amount of luck had been involved, too. This woman before him had no idea what she had gotten herself into – what she had very nearly cost the world - none at all.

"I understand," Harry said, his voice calm and neutral. "Some men will come to see you very soon – they will want to know what happened and you are going to tell them everything, all that you can remember. After which, your memory will be wiped clean of all magical knowledge and we will never see each other again. Do you understand?"

Maggie shivered, her eyes bloodshot and frightened, and bobbed her head. "T-the sample you brought me, Harry. It was your blood, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded. The spots before his eyes were getting bigger. He couldn't wait any longer. He pictured St. Mungo's in his mind, as clear as he could.

In no fit state to Apparate, Harry took a few precious seconds to make sure he got it right and didn't cut himself in half.

_Destination, determination, and deliberation_, he thought. _The three D's of Apparation._

He didn't make a sound as he disappeared, and the only part of himself he left behind was a few small drops of blood that hung in the air where he had been standing for a moment, before dripping to the floor, splattering against a shard of broken glass.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I had fun writing this chapter – sorry about the science lesson with the blood, but it's actually all fact – I didn't make any of it up. And it has been so long since I've written an honest wizard-to-wizard duel that I hope I pulled it off._

_Next chapter already in the works, and maybe a little something else,_

_Joe_


	10. Chapter 8: Now And Then

_**Disclaimer:**__ So... tired... of... discla—not owning Harry Potter._

_**A/N:**__ Hey, this one took me longer than usual. Been trying to decide really where to take this story, and also have started a new story... Link in my profile, under joe6991._

_Cheers,_

_joe_

* * *

_**Chapter 8 – Now And Then**_

_I accept chaos.  
__I am not sure whether it accepts me._

_--Dylan_

Walking with a limp to his step, Harry pushed open the heavy ornate doors to the briefing room and quickly scanned the two dozen or so faces that turned to look at him. He nodded to Ron, and Minister Shacklebolt, and proceeded without any fuss to the head of the room.

Seated before him at a long polished-oak table were twelve of his Senior Aurors, plus Ron, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt, Percy Weasley and another two of the Minster's personal assistants. Also present was Auror Williamson, fresh from conducting his investigation into the breach at Azkaban, and a handful of people in varying fields of expertise ranging from the understanding behind advanced necromancy, to the runes and wards that supposedly make it impossible for any single person to bypass Hogwarts' defences. Three or four of the other Department Head's were also present.

"Good morning," Harry said. "I'm not going to mince words – I've called this meeting today because over the last week there have been a series of attacks aimed directly at this Ministry, specifically at the competence of my Department."

Harry himself had been attacked not once but twice – by Dolores Umbridge's animated corpse down in the Department of Mysteries, and a Death Eater at Scotland Yard who had known far more about Harry's movements and what was going on than any one person outside of this room should have. And it all led back to the mysterious attacker he had dubbed the _Shadowman._

"I've read your latest reports, Harry," Kingsley said, tapping a stack of manila folders. "I'd like you to share what you told me yesterday evening with the group."

Harry nodded, stroking his chin absently and taking a deep breath which he let out very slowly. He had forgotten to shave that morning. "Thank you, Minister," he said after a long moment. "What I'm about to say is classified Priority Red, folks, it does not leave this room. Two people are already dead and this investigation is barely underway. Understood?"

A few of the faces in the room sobered a little and sat up straighter in their chairs. Attentive and alert, as Harry had planned – a lot of them were noticing the sheer coldness in his voice, the barely concealed anger in his eyes. Here was the man who had defeated a Dark Lord, not the man they shared a drink and a joke with after work. Not a one of them, save perhaps Ron, could honestly say they _knew_ Harry Potter.

"Last week," Harry began, pacing back and forth before the crowded table. "Last week Azkaban was breached for the first time in over twenty years. An unknown person or persons attacked and released one of our high-security inmates, who then proceeded to overpower Auror Michelle Connolly and force a hostage situation. The inmate, Dolores Umbridge, wanted to talk to me. She killed herself at the scene of the incident – Avada Kedavra with her stolen wand."

Harry paused, allowing all that to sink in.

"The following evening there was a breach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unknown Dark creatures bypassed the castle's wards and abducted two students, one of them my son Albus and a Muggle-born boy Frank Jackson, from Gryffindor Tower. They were stolen into the Forbidden Forest, where thanks to a bit of luck they managed to escape back to the school just before dawn. At this point we are still unable to identify the creatures. In the file before you is the description we have from the lads involved. This was an attempted murder."

Muttered whispers from those assembled. Ron sat pensively with his chin on his hands, keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself. Harry had already briefed Ron on what had happened at New Scotland Yard yesterday, and although he had his doubts, Ron had agreed with Harry's assessment that it had something to do with the _Shadowman_.

"And earlier this week, Monday afternoon, some of you might have been aware that we had a security breach here at the Ministry itself, in the Department of Mysteries no less. Dolores Umbridge rose from the dead and attacked me with yet another stolen wand – her corpse was animated much past the level of your average Inferi. She could talk, she could think – we believe at this stage she was possessed. How many of you know just how corrupted by Dark magic an individual has to be to manage possession?"

It was a rhetorical question – the answer more than obvious. Harry clenched his fists and slammed them down perhaps a little too hard on the edge of the table before him. He was angry – more and more as each day past and there were no leads, no information. Just relating what had occurred in the last week was enough to get his blood hot. He hated reacting after the event instead of acting before hand.

"The last wizard capable of possession, and the desire to use it, was Tom Marvolo Riddle – more commonly known as the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Even now, nineteen years on, more than a few faces in the room paled at the mention of that once-upon-a-time _forbidden_ name.

"Possession of a deceased mind is impossible," the necromancy specialist Art Nuan, an Indian man with a sharp goatee and an unconscious frown, said. "Commander Potter, there is no way the body of this Umbridge could have been possessed. Even reanimation to the level you are describing would be..." He waved his hand about in the air before him, grasping at the right words. "_Trying_, to say the least, on any individual magical core."

"Not to mention any form of necromancy performed at the Ministry would set off so many Dark magic detectors and wards that the caster would be overwhelmed in moments." And that was the ward and rune specialist, the curse breaker, Diane McCarthy.

Harry listened carefully, quietly, and in his mind he saw Umbridge's head twist a full circle and fall from her neck. He heard her speak, heard _something_ speak, using her decayed throat. What had been done to the woman was abhorrent, magic at its worst. Harry would see the person responsible brought to justice – and whether that was in a courtroom or at the tip of his wand did not matter, he would see it done.

_It will never be over... Harry... not for you._

These 'experts' could sit there and tell him what can and can't be done with magic all day long. Harry had seen more than his fair share of the impossible. Hadn't he and Voldemort explored avenues of magic previously unknown? Hadn't they both defeated death more than once?

"_Live... to fight another... day..." Umbridge giggled. "A lot more... fun... to come your way..."_

Harry chose his next words carefully. "Umbridge's _possessed_ corpse tore the throat out of one of the Unspeakables within the Department of Mysteries itself, perhaps the most heavily warded section of the Ministry since Voldemort's downfall, and her _possessed_ corpse then proceeded to take his wand and attack me as I exited the elevators on that level. Whatever happened, it was timed and executed perfectly – and a man died for that _perfection_."

So far the _Shadowman's_ body count sat at two – Umbridge herself and the Unspeakable. And it could've been a lot higher. If things had happened differently, Harry could add Michelle Connolly, alongside Albus and Frank Jackson to the count, and even Maggie King at Scotland Yard. Thorfinn Rowle would no doubt have slaughtered her, being a Muggle, if only as a reminder of the good old days...

And the attempts on his own life now sat at two, as well, with more fun promised from the lips of a dead woman.

"Commander," Nuan said, stressing his point. The man was creepy, his dark skin also pale, and his eyes looked... _devoid_. He had gazed into the abyss once or twice, no doubt, and found it wanting. "Necromancy at this level is impossible. You can revive the dead to a pale semblance of life – but to suggest that an individual could _possess_ that atrocity, to perform even the simplest magic through an animated corpse, is ridiculous. Pure and utter nonsense."

"I saw it done, Mr. Nuan," Harry said. "Do you doubt that?"

Nuan shook his head. "No, I don't doubt you saw what you saw – just your interpretation of the events, and how it was done."

"Oh?"

"I can't tell you what it was, but the events as you describe them were _not_ necromancy."

Harry gave that some thought. If not necromancy, then what magic could do this...? Something new? This whole thing had given him the feeling of something new, or even something very old. Old enough to have been forgotten, perhaps on purpose. New or old, it came down to being one and the same really.

"Okay," Harry said, realising the main topic of the meeting had gotten a little sidetracked. He glanced at Kingsley, who waved him on. There was a lot more grey in the Minister's dark hair than Harry ever remembered seeing. His birthday party was just over a week away now, being hosted at Hogwarts. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumours that he would be retiring soon. Harry had nothing but respect for one of the men who had helped rebuild magical Britain after Voldemort's downfall.

"Okay," Harry said again. "We've got a problem on our hands, that much is certain. To put it bluntly, someone is screwing with us. In the space of a week Azkaban, Hogwarts, and the Ministry have all been breached by what I believe to be the same individual. There is no physical evidence to support this, just a lot of unexplained magic. As of this morning, with the Minister's approval, discovering the identity and location of this individual has become the sole priority of the Auror Department."

Harry cleared his throat, watching Ron's reaction. His best friend only smiled, looking a little sad. Ron understood better than most that in some ways the Dark War had never really ended with Voldemort's downfall. And the children who had saved the world all those years ago were now the adults that had to make sure it _never_ happened again.

"For now the Hit Wizards will take most of the Auror's caseload and general policing duties. The Aurors are there to hunt and capture Dark wizards, and we definitely have one on our hands here – I think that can be agreed upon by all." _To say the least,_ Harry thought. "Ms. McCarthy, I would like to know what it would take to bypass the wards at Hogwarts without setting off any alerts or alarms. There is a serious gap in the security of the school that was exploited against us, and we still don't know how. Mr. Nuan, I understand you don't expect to find anything, but I would like to ask you to examine the remains of Dolores Umbridge all the same. This may not have been necromancy, but it runs in the same vein."

"Very well," the elder man acquiesced, inclining his head half an inch.

The rest of the meeting took the next two hours to get through, with Harry highlighting the attack by Thorfinn Rowle at Scotland Yard only yesterday, and how he considered it related to the _Shadowman_ case. The name was adopted quickly by all present, and in the weeks to come would even make the papers... as the infamous deeds of the _Shadowman_ came to light in the public's eye.

Maggie King had been obliviated on scene at the clean-up of yesterday's attack. Her lab had been trashed beyond all hope of recovery – and magic could in no way replace lost computer files or mass storage devices. The official report at Scotland Yard would read 'electrical wiring malfunction leading to fire and destruction of property' in that regard. The official report would also say Maggie King had stepped out for coffee at the time of the incident, and the access logs would not show one Harry Potter swiping his card into her office at any time that day.

Indeed, no one by the name of Harry Potter had ever even had access to Scotland Yard at all. All told it was a swift and sure clean-up of magic gone wrong in the presence of Muggles.

And a sore blow to the Magical-Muggle relations program. Even now ambassadors from both societies were arguing over the incident. Harry was glad he did not have to attend that particular meeting.

With the three main attacks more than suspicious enough to launch a full and complete Departmental investigation, Harry sat back as his Senior Aurors hammered out the finer points with the other Department Head's, requested access to certain facilities and discussed the possibilities of necromancy and ward manipulation with the Ministry's top experts.

No one was saying what they were really thinking, however, about how this was the first full mobilisation of the Auror Department in nineteen years, that Harry Potter believed there was a madman out there, a genius, who had outsmarted them all at the three most secure locations in the United Kingdom.

Nor were they saying how these attacks were aimed personally at Harry himself, and his family. It said a lot about the perpetrator of these crimes that he felt no qualms or displayed no restraint in attacking the man who was arguably the strongest, most accomplished wizard of the age. That the _Shadowman_ had, in fact, singled Harry out for his first attacks.

That was a smart move, or could be argued as such. Harry Potter was the greatest threat to any fledging 'Dark Lord'. To take him down, to destroy him and what he stands for, would clear the field for any rising Dark power.

Voldemort had known that, all those years ago, yet he had been struck down by lightning twice all the same.

Harry thought that perhaps history was always doomed to repeat itself, and also that something _big_ was on the horizon. He didn't know what, not yet, only that he was caught in the heart of it once again.

A lot of things had happened in the last week, and he got the feeling that maybe the world would quiet down for a bit now. It had been an eventful few days, and the end result, on that far away horizon, was shaping up to be explosive if the sheer audacity and Dark magic use of the _Shadowman_ was to be believed.

But that was okay – Harry had more than enough experience dealing with _explosive_. He also had enough experience with waiting to know that sometimes the final big bang could have a very long fuse. The _Shadowman_ had been years in the making, of that he was sure, and was only now rearing his ugly head.

Harry was ready and waiting to grind that fuse into the dirt.

* * *

"Here we are, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, passing young Albus a vial of light blue liquid. "Half now, half later if the pain persists. Do come and see me if it does, okay."

Albus nodded and popped the cork, swallowing half of the pain-relief potion in one grateful gulp under the matron's sharp eye. He stoppered the vial again and slipped it into his robes.

"Thanks," he said, letting out a long breath as the potion set to work almost immediately, silencing the large clock that was tolling midnight in his head.

"Headaches are not uncommon with the workload forced on you first-years these days," Madam Pomfrey said. She fussed with her potions bag and did up the clasp. "Why, you're expected to learn twice as much twice as fast. Such is the world we live in now, I suppose. Too fast-paced and always rushing here and there."

"Er... right."

"Although," the elderly matron continued, her face warming a touch. "I'd much rather see you in here for a simple pain relief potion than for the nonsense your father was always getting himself caught up in. _Still_ getting himself caught up in, from what I hear."

Albus hadn't heard from home in two days, but he was expecting an owl tomorrow. And no doubt with his dad being who he was he'd hear of anything gone wrong in the _Prophet_ or on the wizarding wireless. _What's dad got caught up in?_ "Well, he is an Auror."

"Indeed, and no one better suited to the job." Madam Pomfrey patted him on the shoulder. "Check back in tomorrow, Mr Potter, if the headaches don't go away."

"Will do."

Albus jumped up off the edge of the bed in the infirmary and shot off out of there faster than a Seeker after a Snitch, heading for the Great Hall. It was already twenty minutes into the lunch break, and he had developed quite a love for the banquet of food on offer daily at Hogwarts, courtesy of the house-elves down in the kitchens.

And now with his head clearing up he could enjoy it all the more.

He had finally gone and gotten a pain-relief potion after having a constant headache for all of yesterday and the day before. And it was working its magic now – he definitely felt the edge had been taken away. There was still a mild thumping behind his eyes, but even that was fading as well. Having no idea what had caused the headaches, only that it hadn't been going away, a stop by the Hospital Wing seemed like the best thing to do.

Although Albus was sceptical that it had anything to do with his study load, as Madam Pomfrey believed. He found most of his lessons relatively light. He had so far had no trouble with the homework, or with performing the practical spells, brewing the potions and refining his wand-movement. If anything, he was a little ahead of everyone else there. Albus had noticed, and his growing house point tally supported this, that he picked up the spells a lot faster than his classmates.

And that was a trait that bugged Rose to no end, who was still having trouble keeping a feather levitated in a breeze.

No, Albus was doing okay with his schoolwork – he was feeling a little bored with some of it, actually. He spent his evenings going over the Defence Against the Dark Arts book mostly, wanting to impress Professor Drogin and knowing that his dad would be proud of that more than anything. He'd already received a letter two days ago full of admiration and praise for both him and James on making the Quidditch team. He wanted to make sure he'd blitz DADA, and have a really good first year.

Especially since he'd barely been here a fortnight and already he'd been attacked by Dark creatures. Although Albus had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps it had been more of an attack on his dad, than him. Albus Potter was just a kid among hundreds here at Hogwarts – Harry Potter, on the other hand, was a world-renowned Auror who had destroyed the darkest wizard who had ever lived. Still, Albus had shown them not to mess with him or his friends just the same. He just wished he knew how he'd fought them off.

"Hey, Al," Frank said, as Albus arrived at the Gryffindor table, his head clear and stomach growling. "I saved you some of the apple pie – always the first to go. I think we can call it even on the whole rescuing me from the forest creatures incident now."

"One bit of pie, huh? That works for me—Hey, you took a bite out of this!"

"That was me," Gary said next to Frank. "Frank defended the rest of your pie well."

"You took a bite out of my pie?" Albus said, feigning hurt.

"Good pie." Gary Thomas nodded.

"You better be here on time for the Yorkshire puddings tonight then," Albus replied, his eyes narrowing. "Because I feel as if I could eat a tray of them right now."

"You wouldn't dare, Potter."

"Football's for wimps, Thomas."

Frank snorted into his goblet of pumpkin juice as Gary's hand flashed out almost faster than the eye could follow and snatched the remainder of Albus's pie from the plate. He shoved it into his mouth, grinning widely, as Albus looked on in dismay.

"Your move, Potter," Gary said, spraying crumbs everywhere.

"Oh you just gone and started something you don't know how to finish, Gary." Albus calmly buttered a slice of bread, never taking his eyes from the dark-skinned boy across the table. He added roast beef to his bread, and made it a sandwich, glaring anger the whole time. "Be afraid, be very afraid..."

After lunch the first-year Gryffindors had Transfiguration followed by Charms. Shouldering his bag, Albus, Frank, and Gary exited the Great Hall having eaten their fill, and more than most. Albus was always ravenous when it came to meal times. He supposed that might have something to do with the workload Madam Pomfrey had been going on about, because it definitely made him hungry.

_At least I'm set now until dinner_, Albus thought.

"You both finished the essay for homework, right?" Gary asked as the three of them headed up to the Transfiguration floor. "McGonagall said there'd be a quiz on the ten laws of base metal transfiguration."

Frank frowned. "Well iron to steel works a lot better than iron to copper – because iron conducts the magic better. I remember that much."

"No it's the other way round," Albus said, as they headed up the moving staircases, past dozens of animated pictures and suits of armour. "Copper conducts magic better than iron and steel together. If you're doing base metal transfiguration, you want to start with copper, otherwise the source material doesn't split fast enough and you get half a transfigured goblet, or the continuation wears thin and it reverts back to the original form almost immediately. The atomised magic needs good conduc—"

Both Frank and Gary had stopped walking, and were staring at Albus with wide eyes and open astonishment. "Well, someone's been reading ahead and memorising the textbook,' Gary said after a moment. "You sound like you should be teaching the class, Al, not McGonagall."

Albus opened his mouth but then paused, thinking back over what he had actually just said. It had all sounded so normal in his head, common sense really, but now he didn't know what half of it meant. He felt his stomach do a small turn – hadn't this happened just over a week ago, during his first lesson?

"You should try reading ahead..." Albus said after a long moment. He cleared his throat. "Might get us some house points – we're only just ahead of Slytherin."

"I'm sure you'll pull us out in front by the end of the day," Frank said wryly, shoving Albus ahead and around the bend, along a red carpeted corridor and up towards the fourth floor staircases.

About halfway up through the castle Albus's headache returned with a vengeance. So much so that he went dizzy, swaying on the spot and grabbing on to a nearby lance in the grip of a sturdy suit of armour. He could feel his lunch coming back up on him, but the urge to puke faded as the world stopped spinning.

"You okay, Al?" Frank asked.

"I'm-er-fine," Albus said, a little breathless. He felt _light_, almost like he was floating. Except for the headache, he felt... fine. "Come on, next corridor over."

Albus stepped ahead of his friends and practically danced along the corridor, a skip in his step. His head was killing him, but he felt _fine_, _light – alive._ He could almost hear his heart beating in his chest, da-dum da-dum, and the blood flowing through his veins was warm and sure.

"Al, slow down," Gary called. "I'm full of apple pie and cream."

"Al's apple pie and cream," Frank reminded him.

"Yeah, _my_ apple pie—"

Albus turned down the next corridor to the Transfiguration rooms with his two friends just behind him and then came to a sharp stop, as if the wind had been knocked out of his sails. Before him was a lake – the lake, the school lake, and growing over on its eastern bank was the Forbidden Forest, and beyond that the mountains that shrouded the village of Hogsmeade. The sun was just sinking under the tips of those distant western peaks now... and that wasn't right, was it? It was just gone one in the afternoon, and last time he'd checked the forest hadn't been growing that far up the mountainside.

Also, what was the Forbidden forest, the lake, and thousands of feet of mountain doing in the corridor that led to the Transfiguration rooms?

"Guys, do you—?"

Albus turned back to his friends but they weren't there. In fact, nothing was there. Just a wide empty field of long grass swaying gently in the early evening breeze, and a few large oak trees groaning softly under the twilit sky.

"Okay..."

Albus looked about himself quickly, turning a complete circle. No Frank, no Gary, no Hogwarts—

Albus took a long minute to think about that, gazing up at the empty mountainside claimed by the forest, before which the castle of Hogwarts had been built overlooking the cliff-face and the entrance that the first-years travelled through on their tiny boats with Hagrid, across the lake and into the underground harbour...

There was no castle, no Hogwarts, just wild forest and a slow, steady beat pounding away in Albus's head, behind his eyes. He stood there helpless for a few minutes, at a complete loss as to what he should do next, as the beating – the _drums, _the endless _drums_ – thumped harder and harder across his mind. He had no idea what had happened, or where the castle had gone. Even Hagrid's cabin was missing, and Dumbledore's tomb near the south edge of the lake...

"Frank? Gary?"

Albus thought his voice sounded very small in the large, empty world around him. His words were stolen on the wind and soon forgotten. He felt out of place saying anything at all.

After a few more quiet minutes, in which nothing happened save a flock of highland birds gliding gracefully over the surface of the calm lake, Albus began to walk. The ground felt real beneath his feet, real and hard. The long grass swayed around him as he cut a path through it towards where he knew the entrance to the castle should be.

It seemed like the only place to go, although there was nothing there.

He held his wand tightly in his hand, wondering what good all the magic in the world could do him right now. There was no Quidditch pitch, either, and that hit Albus harder than anything else so far.

About halfway up of what he knew were the castle grounds, Albus jumped as a large shriek pierced the quiet – a dozen shrieks, two dozen. He looked up to the crest of the cliff that the castle should have been built into just in time to see a whole flock of birds take flight, spooked and chirping their lungs out, flying as fast as they could off over the lake.

_They know something's about to happen_, Albus thought, unable to ignore the truth in that thought. _Animals always know..._

Albus could hear a _buzzing_ in his ears, vibrating off his eardrums. A steady, low vibration getting higher and higher... running right through his body and—

_This is not Now,_ he thought, and again truth rang clear in his mind. _This is Then. There is no Hogwarts yet because this is Ago. This is all Long Ago._

All of a sudden the ground began to shake and Albus fell to his knees as something loud enough to shatter the heavens blasted through the sky overhead. He clasped his hands over his ears and screamed. And unable to prevent his neck from arching to the twilit sky, dreading what he would find there, Albus was just in time to see source of the tremendous noise.

A band of white-red fire tore across the sky like a burst artery, bleeding and raining flame down upon the world below. Something burning, something falling, that had broken the stillness of the world – a comet, a meteor, no, this was something else... A wave of hot, searing air washed over Albus in the wake of the thing hurtling through the sky just overhead. It was smoky and suffocating, making it impossible to breathe.

There was an explosion.

The noise trebled and Albus was sure his ears would burst from the strain, from the loudest sound he had ever heard. His cries were lost in the din of that all-consuming sound. It was followed by a concussion wave so strong that it drove Albus onto his back and kept him there, as dirt and debris washed over him in the wake of the impact.

Eventually, after a few minutes, maybe longer, Albus rose shakily to his knees, and from there to his feet, brushing off the dirt and loose stones that had caught in his robes.

The grounds of what would one day be Hogwarts were eerily silent again, almost as if there were no burning crater in the cliff face up where the main body of the castle should have been. There was smoke, a little, yet most of it was being _drawn_ into whatever rested at the heart of the crater.

From this distance Albus could barely make out what it was through the thin smoke and hazy heat trail left by the thing that had crashed into the mountain. Something round, something _big_, and glowing as white as the moon with large patches of silver light flowing across its surface. All around it was destruction and scorched earth.

Albus couldn't tear his eyes away even if he had tried. The thing had him entranced, and the pounding behind his eyes, his headache, seemed to beat and swirl with whatever energy that thing held, burning up there in place of Hogwarts Castle.

At that moment the feeling that gripped Albus Potter, that made his head spin and hurt, was one of pure, raw power. Of power untamed, un_leashed_ – of power gone mad.

He began to laugh – until he coughed on the dust and debris blowing through the hot air. The white light from whatever had crashed was spreading across the mountainside and along the cliff a quarter mile away and a few hundred feet up.

Power cascaded like a waterfall over the cliff's edge, a river of raw white light falling over the precipice, and where it struck the lake a tremendous fountain of argent sparks lit up the darkening sky. Stars as distant as rational thought twinkled down at Albus, indifferent and offering no comfort at all.

Albus _swayed_. He swayed, caught in the grip of the awesome strength that washed over him from whatever the glowing sphere was, up there on the ridge... and then he fell. He fell, and fell, and fell...

Until he was no longer falling – and no longer on the ground.

Albus was up in the sky, on the back of a flying motorbike, and was that Hagrid sitting in front of him, revving the engine until it _roared_ as in the distance curse light lit up the sky?

"_I think we've lost 'em, Harry, I think we've done it!" yelled Hagrid._

_But Albus was not convinced. Fear lapped at him as he looked left and right for pursuers he was sure would come... Why had they fallen back? One of them had still had a wand... _It's him... it's the real one..._ They had said it right after he had tried to Disarm Stan..._

"_We're nearly there, Harry, we've nearly made it!" shouted Hagrid._

_Albus felt the bike drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed as remote as stars._

_Then the scar on his forehead burned like fire: as a Death Eater appeared on the other side of his bike, two Killing Curses missed Albus my millimetres, cast from behind—_

_And then Albus saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his white fingers raising his wand again—_

"Al, slow down," Gary called. "I'm full of apple pie and cream."

"Al's apple pie and cream," Frank reminded him.

"Yeah, _my_ apple pie—"

Albus paused, his eyes wide and the cold rush of adrenalin still soaring through his veins from the awesome battle in the sky on the back of a flying motorcycle, a battle against Lord Voldemort himself in which he—no, his father, had barely escaped with his life.

Albus shook and took a slow, steadying breath. From within the folds of his robes he removed the remainder of his headache potion and swallowed it all at once. His forehead was tingling, just above his right eye where, on his father's head, a crude lightning bolt scar had been dug into the flesh at the tender age of one.

For a moment there he had forgotten who he was, and that was a terrifying feeling. A memory that clearly belonged to his father had overtaken his mind... and for a few brief minutes at least, Albus had been on that motorbike, fear gnawing his insides apart and the night sky swarming with enemies.

Only... that was insane, wasn't it?

"Come on, Al," Gary said. "You coming or not? Give you a spear and you could pass as one of the suits of armour."

And the _vision_ before that, of Long Ago, of something crashing into the grounds upon which this very castle was built, that did not belong to his dad. Albus would bet every galleon he had as well as his _Windburn_ racing broom that very few, if anyone, had ever seen what he'd just seen.

_And what did you see?_ he thought. _Just what in Merlin's name was it? It felt so real... the heat from that thing, the _power

"Now or never, Al, we'll be late!"

"Yeah... yeah, coming, Frank."

Albus had no idea what had just happened. He had no idea at all. He didn't even know if it had been real, or what it was even meant to prove if it had been...

His head still hurt – the drums were reaching a crescendo just behind his eyes, yet the potion was beginning to take the edge off again. He didn't waver as he began to move, catching up with Gary and Frank and joining the last of the first-years to enter the Transfiguration classroom.

The fear that had settled in the pit of Albus's stomach was definitely real, of that he could be sure, yet anything else felt uncertain...

"What just happened...?" Albus whispered, sitting down next to Frank and going through the motions of removing his textbook from his bag.

His mind was a million miles away, however, on monsters with crimson eyes and Dark Lords flying through the air on clouds of darkest night...

Albus was afraid.

The fear was real.

He wanted – needed - to see his dad. If anyone could make the monsters go away and leave him alone, it was his dad.

After all, that's what fathers were for, wasn't it? Especially when your father was Harry Potter.

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_**A/N:**__ Thanks for reading, please review. Next chapter should be in a week or so, but no promises. I've another kickass story to write as well – Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time, link in my profile._


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